


The Blood We Spill

by Valmasy



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Blowjobs, F/M, Genius!Kirk, He doesn't want them, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Rebellion, Rough Sex, Self-Mutilation, Spock Has Feelings, Teenage Rebellion, Temporary Character Death, Torture, so many
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-11-05 10:37:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11011743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valmasy/pseuds/Valmasy
Summary: (Formerly:The Devil and the Huntsman)Shi’kahr, Vulcan - 2246The air feels heavy, solemn, and, logically, Spock knows that there is nothing they can do to reverse the situation. Though, hearing his mother's tearful voice makes his knuckles whiten briefly on his PADD."All those people... The children..." Amanda whispers, mournful and soft. Spock thinks he'll remember that moment for as long as he lives.~~How far would you go to save the man you loved?  What would you suffer?  What would you endure?  Knowing the path and walking it are two different things, and the choices you make could break you.





	1. The Hunt for Blue Skies

**Author's Note:**

> The timeline is fudged. Names and places are drawn in from other Star Trek universes. This is not meant to be taken as strict Canon AU.

_Shi’kahr, Vulcan - 2246_

Spock is barely nearing his coming-of-age year - what humans would consider their teenage years - when the emergency appeal explodes across the universe. His mother stands at the chair in his father's study, watching as the news spills detail after horrifying detail. He, himself, is clutching his study PADD, watching with an unblinking gaze. 

The air feels heavy, solemn, and, logically, Spock knows that there is nothing they can do to reverse the situation. Though, hearing his mother's tearful voice makes his knuckles whiten briefly on his PADD. 

"All those people... The children..." Amanda whispers, mournful and soft. Spock thinks he'll remember that moment for as long as he lives. 

~ 

The next few days are hectic. Well, as hectic as it can be for Vulcans. The Elders send aid, because any civilized species would not hesitate. It is only logical. The aid consists of resources that the survivors desperately need. 

Spock watches as his father packs for travel. Behind him, his mother has the news playing on a holo at the dining table. She's writing in her journal, and Spock feels a distant ache at the sight. She's been wearing out her pencils with her prayers for the children that had been med-warped to the _Pegasus_ two days prior - the Federation's medical flagship. 

They won't show the children, which is of no surprise. They're underage, and the horror stories that have come out are enough for most Vulcans' mouths to thin before they disappear to meditate.

But Spock is observant. He has seen all of the news stories, has avidly drank in every detail. In the background of one of the reports when the Aurelion aid had touched down, Spock had caught a glimpse of a small disturbance. A small figure had made a break for it before being dragged back into the darkness of the medical tents. It had been blurry, distant, but Spock had been riveted.

Blue.

He has never seen that shade of blue.

Riveted. Fierce. Determined. 

"Father, I wish to accompany you to the _Pegasus_." 

There is no reason for his request to be denied. Sarek agrees, citing that Spock's studies merely require completion before they travel.

Spock finishes a month's worth in 3.432 hours; his mother packs his bags while he does so. When Sarek stands at the door to leave, Spock doesn't let him wait longer than a few seconds.

He's careful to hide the eagerness he feels in his limbs. It wouldn't do to show his father, especially since he can't explain his fascination with the figure that had struggled for escape. 

Why.

That single word circulates through his thoughts, too many unknown variables to answer the question. What was so important left on that planet that the figure had tried to escape rescue to return to It? He dismisses the hope that he'll be able to ask that figure when they arrive. 

... If Spock can meet that person.

Spock stands still as his mother kisses his cheek and embraces Sarek briefly. 

"Take care of them," Amanda whispers at Sarek's ear. Spock glances away from the intimacy.

"I will do what is needed," Sarek assures her. "Come along, Spock."

Spock follows at his father's heels and, before he knows it, they're boarding the shuttle that will take them to the jump.

Spock is carefully reading his father's duties once he boards the _Pegasus_. As Ambassador for the Vulcans, the largest aid sent, Sarek is required to make sure that all resources are used and distributed in the most efficient capacity. 

Safely on the shuttle, Spock feels that he can ask his father something he dearly wishes to know. He's been sitting with his mother too much lately. He'll have to focus on studying in his room when they return. 

...Just for a while, though. He enjoys it when she dotes on him.

"Will we meet any of the survivors, Father?" Spock asks, tone even as he flicks to the next page of the duties.

Sarek looks down at him, brow raising slightly.

"It is possible," he replies. "Though I've already been informed that most of them are quarantined." 

"Have they informed you of what truly happened, or will you be informed when we arrived?" Spock closes out of the document to hand the PADD to his father.

"It is not necessary for me to know all the details to do what is required. I am merely offering Vulcan's assistance until the survivors are cleared to return to their families under Federation protection."

Spock's stomach lurches uncomfortably. He fears, actually fears, that he won't be able to meet him in time. He looks out the viewing screen and wonders if he can accept the very high probability of not being able to meet that vivid, entrancing survivor.

He will know in the future to never underestimate James T. Kirk. 

For now, though, Spock descends from the shuttle after its docking. The jump had been uneventful, the _Pegasus_ waiting on the other side like a beacon of hope in the darkness of the universe. Several smaller ships of the Federation hover around her as shuttles depart their hulls to visit the planet just below. 

Spock looks upon Tarsus IV with a moue. The planet is an innocuous one, red with silt deposits and, while it is hospitable for many species, its recent events will forever darken its history.

Spock believes that the unfortunate souls that didn't survive wouldn't consider it adequate recompense. He turns from the view when his father is hailed. 

A grave-looking Arcadian walks up to them as her aide dashes off. 

"Ambassador, I am Lelana. I am the envoy for arrivals. We are honored by your presence. We have begun sorting the supplies you have brought. Captain Rehanon is in the quarantine wing, but he asks that I escort you to the Ambassadors Hall."

"Has anyone else arrived?" Sarek asks as Spock falls into step behind them.

"Yes. Ambass-"

-Atrian Code 2B!- 

Envoy Lelana comes to a stop as the announcement repeats, and Spock almost runs into his father. She swears something colorful and turns to Sarek.

"I deeply apologize, Ambassador, but I must go to assist them. If you continue down to that hallway, I'll have an ensign meet you at the turbolift."

Sarek inclines his head in acknowledgement, and Lelana takes off at a full run. Sarek strides off, but Spock walks slowly enough to see that Lelana disappears around the corner to Quarantine. She's fast even in the long skirt of her uniform, and Spock acknowledges the impressive feat. 

But only because he really wants to follow her. 

There is a rustle of movement from the end of another hallway, and the sound of grating shifting. If Spock could ju-

"Spock." 

Spock turns to look at his father standing beside the turbolift. An ensign in a green uniform stands just beside him, expression grim but most would consider it still approachable. 

"My apologies," Spock says when he realizes he has stopped more than a few feet away. He finishes the few steps to the lift, feeling the tips of his ears flush just slightly. He must be more careful, more aware of his surroundings outside of his focus or his father will begin to question him. 

Logically, he knows he should purge this strange fascination. These survivors have been through enough; they didn't need what they would surely think of as a strange, Vulcan child intruding into their healing and mourning. He knows this even as, instinctively, he feels driven to sate his curiosity. 

As the turbolift closes, Sarek and the ensign, Vorrik, speak briefly about the other Ambassadors. Spock keeps one ear to the conversation and begins going through his studies as a form of meditation. 

~ 

The human female's shoulders are drawn tight, and her expression is almost as placid as his father's, but Spock can see the tightness of the lines around her eyes and mouth. Her tongue curls pleasantly around the Vulcan greeting, and Spock stares up at her. 

He's sure she notices how green his ears must be, but he can't explain why he suddenly feels... He cannot adequately label this feeling. He actually stumbles out the proper greeting in return and finds himself subtly shifting to hide behind his father's heavy robes. 

Neither his father nor the woman make note of it, for which Spock is eternally grateful. He sticks closer than usual to his father's side, peeking up at the woman as they speak. Her manner and speech are impeccable, succinct. His heart beats faster than normal. 

Ambassador Kirk is strangely alluring and fascinating, but mostly intimidating.  
"And have there been any discussions regarding the children?" There's a moment of silence, potent and leaden, and it makes Spock's hair stand on end. He blinks, makes sure to to blink slowly again.

"I have more information, yes," Ambassador Kirk supplies in response to Sarek's query. Her words are leading, the ends of them clipped. It's telling, something a Vulcan would be able to hide long before they reached the human's age.

Spock wants her to meet his mother. Amanda could make Ambassador Kirk smile. Spock thinks he'd very much like to see it. A very small part of him also thinks coming to the _Pegasus_ had been a mistake. He squashes that ruthlessly, snuffs the thought out like his _sehlat_ had his mother's experimental garden.

"I see." And Spock knows that his father certainly reads the situation more easily, though he makes no outward reaction. Spock looks between them, waiting to be clued in. 

"There are only nine survivors," Kirk says, folding her hands behind her back. It draws her up straighter still, and her uniform rustles softly. 

"The children," Sarek states, and Kirk inclines her head in agreement. 

"I have been working with envoys on Deneva to secure housing for them. Their families were among the four thousand." 

Sarek remains quiet for a moment, and Spock thinks it's more because Ambassador Kirk has already begun such important dealings without the other Ambassadors rather than mention of the children being orphans.

"Deneva is an acceptable colony. The children will be raised adequately for the mining belt. It will be productive and enriching." 

Spock resists the urge to make a face. A mining colony sounds awful for children. 

"We will discuss it with the children first, of course," Kirk says, and she sounds almost resigned for a moment, exasperated. Spock wonders at it before a shuffling sound draws his attention. His father must hear it too, but he merely continues his conversation with Kirk. 

Spock tilts his head up, and his gaze connects instantly with another in the ceiling. Where Ambassador Kirk had his heart beating faster, it's certainly pounding now. He stares at those riveting blue eyes and knows he's found his survivor. 

The boy is young, appearing a couple human years younger than Spock's own age and, aside from his striking gaze, his blond hair is closely cropped to his head. Spock can't catalog many details from the ceiling grates, but he sees the boy press a finger to his lips, and even Spock understands the simple gesture.

So he simply watches quietly, not alerting the adults to the boy's presence. The boy drags his eyes away and seems to focus on his father and Ambassador Kirk, but Spock continues to peer at the boy. 

"You were stationed for the initial transfer, were you not?" Sarek asks.

"Yes," Kirk replies, watching a shuttle descend towards the planet. Spock isn't sure when the viewing screen was turned on. "I escorted my brother and his wife on the first trip."

Spock tilts his head in brief surprise when he catches emotion on his father's face; understanding and sadness.

"They were part of the four," Sarek says quietly, more statement than question. 

Kirk nods, finally showing the strength of her own sadness. Spock thinks about Remembrance Day, and the Kelvin Incident that is its source. Ambassador Kirk has lost much in her life; her husband, and now her brother and sister-in-law. 

Spock understands his father's break in control, feels the same ache for her. Family is important. 

Family... Realization dawns just as the door opens to Envoy Lelana. Sarek and Kirk both turn to her, but before the envoy speaks, Kirk is already lifting a hand to rub her brow.

"He went missing again, didn't he?"

"I'm sorry, Ambassador Kirk," Lelana says with nod as she wrings her hands absently. "Doctor Pterryl insists he took the sedative, but Security chased him into the tubes."

Spock is careful not to look up to the ceiling again, but he can hear that the boy's breathing has sped up. The boy must be Ambassador Kirk's son; James Tiberius, Spock recalls. 

Which leads Spock to another realization, a connecting of facts and details. Tears well up in his eyes as he thinks about what James Tiberius had experienced on the planet below them. He suddenly desperately wishes for his mother, wishes for firmer control. His chest is tight with pain, and his skin feels chilled with embarrassment at his lack of control.

But then, his father's hand settles on his shoulder, light but steady. The shock of it calms Spock enough that he's able to blink back the emotions before they spill over. He can't help but look up at the ceiling then, but James Tiberius had disappeared without a sound. Sarek's hand slips from his shoulder as he turns to track the venting system. 

"Just..leave it be for now," Kirk says, frustration now plain in her tone. "He'll come to me when he's ready."

"Yes, Ambassador." Lelana bobs her head in agreement, stepping to the side as the door opens again on Captain Rehanon as he sweeps into the Hall. 

Sarek greets Rehanon in Vulcan's customary way.

"Sarek. Winona." He takes them in with spread hands and a wry smile. "It's been a long time. I only wish it were under different circumstances."

"As do I," Kirk answers. "Thank you for all your crew has done. I... If I lost..."

"But you haven't." Rehanon shakes his head. "It'd take more than that crazy asshole to take down George's son."

The adults step away to seat themselves at the table and begin discussing their resources for the remaining four thousand colonists. Spock partially listens to this; he's more interested in the children. He eyes Rehanon as the man takes the main chair. His human features are odd to Spock's eye, unpleasant and aged. He decides he doesn't trust the Captain. He stays silent and moves about the room, listening in vain for a sign of James Tiberius. 

Twenty minutes later, Spock approaches the table as a pause in the discussion arrives. He politely awaits his father's attention and, when Sarek nods at him to speak, he asks: "Father, I wish to take a walk around the ship. If the Captain allows it."

Rehanon waves the question off with permission as he continues to sign through a few padds his yeoman has brought him. 

"You may," Sarek responds just as Kirk leans forward in her chair. Her fingers are laced together, the bones slender and knuckles white from tension. She gains Spock's attention, and he has the strange urge to bite his lip and hide behind his father again. 

Kirk tries to smile at him. The gesture curves her mouth, but it's brittle, strained. "You've been so quiet, Spock. I'd forgotten you were here."

Spock doubts that, but slightly inclines his head. "Ambassador."

"Please, call me Winona or, because I see that Vulcan panic in your eyes, Mrs. Kirk." The smile she gives then is much more genuine.

"Mrs. ... Mrs. Kirk," Spock responds and actually shifts his weight. He'll be aghast at his fidgeting later.

"If you happen to run into another little boy about your age, can you tell him that if he doesn't want to stay in the infirmary, he could at least stay in my rooms. He's a...hm, a little shorter than you. Blond with blue eyes."

"Loud," Rehanon offers with a cheeky wink at Kirk. Spock can see her hide a grimace in the way she looks back to him.

No, he doesn't like this Captain at all.

"Yes, James has quite the personality. Only if you see him, okay?"

"Of course, Am- Mrs. Kirk. I will do so should I see your son." He half bows and bids his father goodbye, eager to be out and about in the ship. 

Spock strides easily through the ship despite his unfamiliarity with its layout. He folds his hands behind his back like his father and follows the wall across from the Ambassadors Hall. He passes a lot of the crew who are bustling about in their duties.

The vents in the main halls of the ship are recessed and covered. Spock can't see a way into them, but that doesn't mean that someone like James Tiberius couldn't find a way. So Spock wanders through the ship and learns some of her ins and outs while simultaneously being disappointed every five minutes that he doesn't run into Kirk's son. 

He finds himself standing two floors down near the Quarantine area again, but he doesn't think he'll find James Tiberius down here. He's simply drawn there, though he doesn't know why. The remaining children are behind the hermetically sealed doors and, with them, knowledge that Spock doesn't have.

He finds he wants it.

"Are you gonna cry?"

The question startles Spock out of his frowning stare, and he whirls around, coming face to face with James Tiberius Kirk. Those blue eyes are fierce, but Spock can see the crazed edge, the pain...and the hate. It steals Spock's breath away.

"What?" Spock hears himself say, and he physically jerks back at the awfulness of it.

James Tiberius mirrors the movement, wariness radiating from every inch of him, and Spock feels sick. He doesn't understand what's wrong with him today. He's always so controlled that even his father has complimented him.

"My apologies," he forces himself to say without stammering. "You... I didn't expect you to be there." It isn't very Vulcan to be startled or to admit to being scared. He didn't want his father to turn away from him.

James Tiberius eyes Spock, and Spock takes that moment to size the other boy up too. The bags under his blue gaze are dark and bruised, and he's gaunt, starved. Spock's fingers tighten painfully behind his back. He feels the irrational desire to pick a fight with Stonn. 

James Tiberius' mouth quirks suddenly. "I like that better; you don't look so weak now."

Spock blinks. "What?" He closes his eyes briefly, mortified, then takes a steadying breath to try again in a more precise, proper manner. He doesn’t get a chance.

"You don't look like you’re gonna cry now. You look mad. That's good; you'll last longer." 

It's said so easily that Spock doesn't know how to respond. 

Spock shakes his head. "I assure you, James Tiberius, that no harm will come to us on this ship. Your moth-"

"My mother doesn't know a damn thing, and it's _Jim_. Not that full name crap," Jim cuts in with a curl of his lip. "What's yours, Vulcan?"

"Jim," Spock repeats. His heart trips over itself again, and he feels a flush tint his ears like he could actually taste the name on his tongue.

"Your name is Jim too?" Jim asks skeptically, squinting at Spock.

"What? No!" Spock draws an embarrassed, indignant breath. "S'chn T'gai Spock, so I am named. But humans are uneasy with Vulcan names, so you may call me Spock."

"S'chn T'gai Spock," Jim casually spits back at him with a smirk. "Ambassador's son, I'm good with my tongue."

For Spock, there is no double meaning to the words. He is too young to understand the tone in which Jim states that fact. Though, Jim's skin goes ruddy and mottled with anger after he says it. Upon seeing it, Spock feels an echo of violence in empathy. He wants to hurt what hurt James T- _Jim_. He wants to go down to that forsaken planet and raze it further to the ground. Along with the anger which he tries hard to tamp down beneath a shaky control, he feels the insufficiency of his age, the paucity of his ability to actually enact his vengeance. 

“Wow,” Jim says as he watches Spock. “Are you okay?”

No. No, Spock is decidedly not okay. He’s impotently furious and, at the same time, he feels nauseous from all the reeling emotions. He distantly thinks his mother would be happy to hear him experiencing such a range, but all he wants to do at the moment is vomit from dizziness. She wouldn’t appreciate that as much.

“I am adequate,” he hears himself respond, and he takes a steadying breath to straighten his stance. 

Jim snorts, pressing bandaged fingers to his hips. “Sure you are. I ain’t ever seen a Vulcan like you, S’chn T’gai.”

“Spock.”

Jim blinks then smirks. “Spock. I ain’t ever seen a Vulcan like you, Spock.”

The way his name falls off Jim’s tongue elicits a response quite opposite from anger, more like what Spock had felt when faced with Ambassador Kirk. It’s the same hollow feeling in his stomach except multiplied by the blue of Jim’s eyes and the uptick of his mouth. 

Jim doesn’t have the same gentleness in the slope of his shoulders like his mother. His angles are sharper; offensive instead of defensive. They’ve been standing together for approximately ten minutes and not once has Jim’s stance relaxed. He’s constantly braced for impact, and Spock believes that to be normal after what Jim has been through. 

“There are many Vulcans similar to myself,” Spock says. “My fellow academia colleagues, for one.”

“Acad-you could just say classmates, you know,” Jim says with a roll of his eyes. “And yeah, that’s obvious, but I meant because you’re so...so…” He waves a hand at Spock, but all Spock can do in response is arch an eyebrow. He has no clue what Jim is trying to say. “Ah, never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’ll see you around, Spock.”

“Jim, a moment more, please,” Spock says, taking a step forward when Jim turns to walk away, stopping when Jim turns back. “Ambassador Kirk has requested that I ask you to restrict yourself to her rooms aboard the _Pegasus_ if you don’t wish to remain in medical.”

Spock expects Jim to roll his eyes again, to dismiss his mother’s concern with nonchalance, but he’s wrong. Jim’s expression turns dark, his features tightening into that hate that Spock had seen in his gaze. 

“Real chummy with her, aren’t you?” Jim says, tone still deceptively light. Spock wishes he hadn’t promised to say anything. 

“I do not understand the term. I have only just met the Ambassador this afternoon. She simply correctly assumed we would meet on my walk.”

“I’ll bet,” Jim huffs and shrugs a shoulder. “Well, you can tell her I ain’t staying in that chop shop, and I don’t wanna go anywhere near her rooms.” 

“She is your mother, Jim, and you’ve been through...a lot. She is only concerned for your well-being.” Spock is speaking from the experience of having a human mother. Surely, Ambassador Kirk is the same. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jim picks at a bandage on his arm. He’s lost his hostile aura, and Spock relaxes slightly. “But how could you? No one gets it.”

Spock watches him quietly for a moment, reminded that they are both very young still, but Jim has experienced tragedy upon horror. The dissonance in his age and maturity is understandable. 

“Would you explain it to me?” Spock wonders, finally letting his hands rest at his sides. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the green of his blood rush back to his fingers from where he’d been clenching. 

Jim’s eyes widen for a moment then narrow. “You want me to explain everything? Why, are you some Vulcan prodigy-cum-psychiatrist? I don’t need anymore doctors trying to get in my head.”

“No, Jim. That’s not it at all,” Spock says quietly and decides to be frank, honest. “You simply fascinate me, and I wish to understand you.”

For a moment, Spock thinks Jim will stay, will talk to him. For a moment, Spock’s side feels like it’s going to burst open with how fast his heart is beating. But Jim only shakes his head. 

“I’m not interested in being someone’s butterfly again, Spock. It’s better you just back off and forget about me.”

Spock, unfortunately, does understand that term. He doesn’t want to pin Jim down and examine him, not at all. He just wants to learn everything he can, understand what makes this human boy Jim. His heart thuds once painfully. That’s exactly what Jim doesn’t want. He hesitates and, while he does so, Jim starts to walk away with a two-fingered salute over his shoulder. 

“They’re sending you to Deneva!” Spock calls out, startled by his own outburst as his voice echoes against the metal walls of the ship. He draws back immediately, pressing a hand to his mouth. This family, this boy, has thrown him off the cliff of control. He hates it as much as he suddenly finds an intense craving for it to continue. 

Jim stops again, freezes completely without even turning back around. He already knows this, of course, because he’s been in the vents enough to keep track of his mother’s plans. “They’re only sending the orphans. I ain’t an orphan, despite my mom’s best efforts.”

“Of course,” Spock replies, feeling foolish. Of course the Ambassador wouldn’t send her own son to the mining belt. “My apologies. I have overstepped, and I will...back off, as you say.”

Jim’s shoulders go up around his ears briefly then he continues on around the corner, disappearing out of Spock’s sight once more. Spock wants to go after him, wants to trail him like he does his father. He does neither. Instead, he returns to the Ambassadors Hall where he forces himself to meditate in the corner out of the way until his father summons him to retire. 

He doesn’t see Jim again before the ship warps to Deneva, though he hears about how a section of the _Pegasus_ s’ Quarantine shuts down due to hacking. Identifying information on the survivors of the massacre is erased, and the children disappear into the jefferies tubes. When security goes in after them, Jim hacks the _Pegasus_ further, and the children’s bio signatures disappear with them. Security comes out confused and empty-handed. 

The crew is beside itself with anxiousness. Technicians are constantly battling Jim’s successful attempts at turning the ship’s systems to his benefit. Ambassador Kirk is growing steadily paler and, with each degree of color lost, her expression flattens. 

Spock suppresses a shiver in her presence, listening to Captain Rehanon as he rails. Rehanon is an angry, dark cloud that patrols his ship, shouting order after order to shaking ensigns and scattering security. He’s not changing Spock’s opinion of him for the better whatsoever. As for his opinion of Jim, Spock is impressed, enthralled by Jim’s technical acumen. 

It’s late one evening, and the ship is quiet. Spock wakens with a restless feeling in his limbs. His father sleeps still across the room from where Spock’s cot rests; it was logical to take up less space by sharing the room. He stands to pace the length of the room, trying to shake out the feeling his in his body. It doesn’t help; the room is too small for Spock’s sudden claustrophobia. 

He lets himself out of his father’s quarters to walk the now-familiar lengths of the Pegasus. The Gamma shift is sparse with their patients missing, so Spock doesn’t need to exchange polite greetings with anyone in the halls. His walk is uninterrupted for a quarter of an hour when he finds himself near the Quarantine wing again. 

He tilts his head, peering at the illumination around the corner of the hall, the light’s source unseen. His restlessness increases until his legs are moving the rest of himself forward towards that light. As he gets closer, he can hear metal scraping across a surface, a rough sound of a pain, and Jim’s voice. 

“Let me go!” Jim’s demand is loud and full of lethal warning. The words are barely complete before Spock is sprinting the last distance to where the light is spilling from one of the medical exam rooms. His foot hits a hypospray that has fallen with other supplies onto the floor. He pivots just in time to save his balance then freezes in shock. Jim’s thrashing had knocked over a supply cart, leaving its contents to roll to new places.

Jim is spitting curses and is struggling to escape the heavy-handed grasp of Rehanon, but the captain has Jim trapped between the bio bed and his much larger body. There’s blood dripping down from Jim’s nose, blood glistening under his fingernails to match the deep gouges on Rehanon’s face. 

“You little bitch,” Rehanon snarls, shoving Jim’s head down against the bed with the vicious impact of his fist.

Jim’s bandages are mostly gone, but a few are unraveling to trail limply to the floor. The white of the bandages almost blends into the paleness of Jim’s thigh, bright against the tanned skin of Rehanon’s. Spock tears his gaze upward, meeting Jim’s gaze; his eyes are blown wide, animalistic and rabid, and focused intensely on Spock. 

“ _Sahr-tor!_ ” Jim yells the Vulcan word harshly. Even at a time like this, James T. Kirk still puts others before himself. Though, Spock hears it as if from a distance. Rehanon is jerking upright a little, startled, but Spock’s eyesight tunnels, and something snaps inside of him with the deafening roar of his ancestors. He launches forward with a scream as primal as his small form can produce.

He blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sahr-tor!_ \- Run!


	2. The Devil's in the Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage.  
> Then someone will say what is lost can never be saved.  
>  _Smashing Pumpkins_

_Vulcana Regar, Vulcan - 2253_

Spock is angry. To be fair, he's always in a less-than-pleasant mood, but today, the room is positively irradiated with controlled fury. The other Vulcans in the room do not stir to it; they do not dare.

Spock contemplates the news Stonn has brought, one hand absently, expertly twisting long strands of dark hair into a formal braid. His chin rests in his other hand, legs crossed at the knee. At his feet, T'Pring sits quietly, back straight and hands folded primly as Spock fixes her hair. She knows not to move, for to do so would irritate him and risk more than a few strands of hair. 

"How many did we lose?" Spock asks, silken strands slipping over his knuckles in intimate caress. He pushes his thumb forward to stroke his bondmate's neck, test her control. T'Pring remains still, but Stonn shifts, drawing Spock's focus.

"Three," Stonn replies when Spock arches a brow in question. 

Spock waits for Stonn to elaborate, but sensing no further words, he sighs and turns his hand to rest the unbound braid over T'Pring's shoulder. She tends to it, arranging the braid carefully so it doesn't come undone. Spock briefly ponders slicing it off at the crown of her skull, remembering that an old human race had done such a thing once upon a time.

"Go on," he says, tone flat and uninspiring. "Name them, then."

Stonn draws his gaze away from T'Pring and clears his throat. "They have recruited T'Ven, Suray, and Skasir."

The names bring Spock to a pause. "They took Skasir? He is barely out of the Pits."

"Yes, though I heard he tested favorably in endurance."

“Perhaps that is a sign you’ve bullied him too much,” Spock muses. Stonn says nothing, merely inclines his head in acknowledgement. “That is the second batch of children in as many weeks. The Elders allow too much.”

Spock uncrosses his legs, and T’Pring comes to her feet gracefully to step to the side. Spock watches as Stonn noticeably forces himself to keep his gaze away from her. His mouth ticks upward briefly, and he reaches out a hand to press his forefinger to T’Pring’s where her hands are folded in front of stomach. He idly strokes his finger along hers, and though she lowers her gaze to the floor, she gives no further ground to the intimacy of the gesture.

Spock is always impressed by her control. Stonn, on the other hand, is severely lacking in it, if the mottled green of his cheeks is anything to go by.

It amuses Spock to no end. He drops his hand and stands, the black folds of his robe falling around his legs. “Seven of us. Seven more they have taken.” It’s frustrating and enraging, and Spock lets the curl of anger weight his hands, turn them into fists. 

“The Federation’s draw is hard to resist.” Stonn watches Spock pace to the other side of his room. It’s a wide space, granted by Sarek’s status of Ambassador. “Though, I am hard-pressed to understand it myself. What do the united species offer that our Science Academy does not?”

Spock ruminates on the question, remembering blue eyes bright with intelligence and hatred. It’s not often that he allows himself to follow that train of thought, but now… Now, he actively tries to sprint down it. Like before, his thoughts ram right into a void of black; a void so consuming that he staggers a little. 

It’s a weakness that he’s quick to dismiss, turning back to face the others. T’Pring has taken Spock’s seat, her finger smoothing along the rounded edge of the desk beside her. It’s the same one he’d kissed, and her expression is knowing as she meets his gaze. 

His bondmate is well-chosen. 

Stonn, T’Hain, and Falor remain in their close formation. Despite their appearances, they fear Spock and believe that sticking close will bring safety. It’s logical, though Spock hasn’t lost control in years. 

“The Federation offers frequent travel and broader experiences,” Spock says fairly. “Though, they employ filth more often than not. They take children and send them to slaughter.”

“Turkana IV,” Falor murmurs, and Spock flexes his fingers out to release his tension. 

“Giedi Prime.” T’Hain’s expression is sour; she lost a brother to the military ranks on that green failure.

“Deneva.” This, from T’Pring, is put forth steadily, the only one in the room unafraid of breathing out that cursed name. Her confidence serves to calm the fire that ignites at its mention, and Spock regards Stonn calmly. 

“Where do they take them now?” Spock asks. 

“Fort Baker,” Stonn answers. “It is the new academy near Starfleet-”

“Headquarters in California, I am aware,” Spock finishes for Stonn. “I confess myself surprised that it is something so...simple this time. I feel my father’s hand in this.”

“Indeed,” Sarek agrees, standing in Spock’s doorway with his hands folded into his robes. 

Stonn and the others turn and bow in greeting to the Ambassador before filing out of the room. T’Pring stands as Sarek approaches. He inclines his head to her, but she waits for Spock’s slight nod before stepping quietly out of the room. 

Sarek doesn’t put on a facade, making no attempt to waste movement on looking about his son’s belongings. “You simply need ask me when curious about where the students choose to go.”

“You are mistaken if you believe me still young enough to think they have a true choice in destination.”

“You are still very young, my son,” Sarek says, a hint of admonishment in his tone. “Your attempts at undermining the Council’s authority are, at best, unsuccessful.”

“And at worst?” Spock’s even tone is as close to bratty insolence as his Vulcan upbringing will allow. 

“At worst, your mother would be ashamed of how you have been acting,” Sarek states.

The silence then is leaden, and Spock is flushed with embarrassment. His skin is heated, and he’s very aware of the unconventional styling of his hair, the stud piercing the point of his left ear.

“They…” Spock falters, swallows and tries again. “Out of the hundreds of children they have taken from us, sixty have survived. At most. Father-”

“Your numbers are skewed with your opinions,” Sarek says dismissively. “You speak of tragedies that were unfortunate, but the Federation is not inherently tragic. They are peacekeepers and explorers.”

“They are thieves and murderers! They have taken _everything_.” 

“Spock.” Sarek stares at him in surprise at his outburst. Spock is shaking, nauseous. He shows more weakness by lifting a trembling hand to push back the longer strands of his hair. He leaves his fingers there, digging blunt nails against his scalp. 

Sarek takes that hand between his own, gripping it firmly to help steady it. “Your mother’s death had nothing to do with the Federation. Their doctors and our healers did what they could; they eased her passing. As for James…”

“Do not,” Spock whispers. The void calls to him with gentle encouragement.

“As for James,” Sarek continues, keeping Spock anchored. “I know that you blame yourself for his death, but it is time you learn to forgive yourself, or at least learn to live with it.”

An abhorrent tear finds a path down Spock’s cheek.

“You are almost a quarter century now, Spock. Even James would find this mourning period illogical. He would not want this for you.”

“We know nothing of what he would want,” Spock says hollowly. Sarek breathes out quietly and examines the picture his son presents; the earring, the shaved side of his head, the ceremonial burial robes.

“You must remember that you did not die with him that day,” Sarek reminds him. “You are still alive, and you are still my son. I will not lose you to this...this pointless rebellion. You are old enough now to be an example for others, old enough to lead them.”

Spock pulls his hand away, frowning at his father. “Father, what have you done?”

Sarek regards him quietly. 

“What did you do?” There’s a desperate edge to his question, a coldness seeping through the foundation of his control.

“You are to be on the shuttle to the _Temperance_ this evening,” Sarek informs him. “You will be joining Skasir and the others on Earth.”

Spock wishes he could black this moment out too.

~~

_Sausalito, California - 2255_

Spock celebrates his twenty-fifth birthday across two days. Nyota assures him that most people stretch such tidings across the span of a week, some even the whole month of their birth. It is illogical and indulgent. 

He begins to formulate plans to spoil her as much as he can on her next birthday. He adjusts the sit of the strap on his shoulder, his students’ reports weighing his bag down. The air is crisp, salty from the bay, and it makes Spock miss the desert winds of his homeworld. 

Someday, he will take Nyota to Vulcan. Perhaps he will request leave and treat her to the surprise for her birthday. She would enjoy the many accents of Vulcan in the heart of Shi’kahr. He allows himself a small, private smile at the thought.

“Now I _know_ I’ve seen everything,” a voice exclaims in what could only be a human accent. Spock comes to a stop before he runs into the human standing near the holo-hub just ahead. He’s not one Spock’s met before, but that’s not anything to be surprised about. Fort Baker continues to grow each year; its numbers increasing as the Federation’s popularity increases.

“Are you addressing me, cadet?” Spock asks, taking note of the red uniform the man wears. He doesn’t appear to be the normal age of new recruits, but the pips on the shoulders indicate medical, which lends credence to the man’s older years.

“I’m not that old, kid,” the man says with a roll of his eyes. 

“Excuse me, I did not realize there were still telepaths among your species,” Spock says, straightening just a little. His bag shifts down his shoulder again, but he pays it no heed as the man chuckles. There’s warmth in the sound, a promise of slow nights and meaningful touches.

The proposed image is immediately banished when the man smirks, though the expression favors the cut of his cheekbones. “I don’t need to hear your thoughts, Vulcan. It’s written on your face, plain as day.”

Spock has the irrational urge to tell the man to take it back. He says nothing, but he also doesn’t continue on his way. After a moment, he prompts: “Go on then. What about me has you saying you have seen everything, Cadet...?”

“McCoy. Leonard McCoy, and have you looked in a mirror lately?” Leonard asks, arching a brow at Spock as he crosses his arms and leans against the holo-hub. He actually manages to appear as if he has no care in the world for the hustling bustle of the campus. “You certainly don’t look the part of teacher, let alone the poster child of the most uptight species in the universe. Where’s your bowl cut?”

“You,” Spock begins then pauses, blinking. He’s almost speechless. He may have given into becoming a teacher as his father wished, but he’d taken a stand regarding his personal style. He didn’t want to lose any more pieces of his himself. “You are quite rude, Cadet McCoy.”

“Comes with the territory,” Leonard snorts. “Gotta keep the kids on their toes. I like it, by the way, the haircut. It’s different, really shows off the, um…” He gestures to his own ears, and Spock feels his expression flatten. 

“Thank you for your opinion,” Spock replies dryly. “I will be sure to run my next choice by you before I alter my appearance.”

“The smile too,” Leonard continues, brushing off Spock’s sarcasm easily. “Is that why you’re here and not home?”

“Forgive _my_ rudeness, but I would rather continue on my way than continue this conversation. Good day, Cadet.”

“Wa-” Leonard comes away from the holo-hub, but Spock is already maneuvering around him.

“I said good day,” Spock repeats, mostly expecting the hand that lands on his shoulder. Still, the heat of it sends a spark of awareness down his spine. He turns to face Leonard again with a brow arched. It’s usually enough to quell the student masses, but Leonard merely arches one right back at him. 

“I actually need to speak with you, Professor. I wasn’t waiting around the Command Track campus for my health.”

“No? I suppose it would be for mine since you are clearly medical.”

Leonard shrugs this time. “You’re the only Vulcan above consenting age.”

And this time, it’s Spock’s turn to smirk. His mouth barely moves, but it’s effective by the way Leonard’s gaze is drawn to it then snaps back up immediately. “As flattering as that true statement is, I am currently in a monogamous relationship. Perhaps if she is in a good mood, I may make the suggestion that you join us. She would appreciate your accent.”

Spock basks in his success as a stunned Leonard stares at him. 

“If you continue to leave your mouth open that way, I believe your species says it will catch insects,” Spock says, being so bold as to tap Leonard’s chin to shut his mouth. 

Leonard actually flinches back, and after a moment, he laughs. “Oh man. I like you.”

“I shall note this momentous occasion in my diary,” Spock replies flatly. “Kindly explain exactly what it is you wish for me.”

“I need you for my finals,” Leonard says, finally letting go of Spock’s shoulder. Spock hadn’t realized it’d still been there. “No one’s ever gotten higher than a barely-passing in Bashir’s class, and I aim to beat that with you.”

“Bashir’s class?” Spock runs through his knowledge of the Academy courses. “His finals are not scheduled until after next year’s summer semester, not for the current graduating classes.”

“I’m fast-tracked,” Leonard explains with a determined tone. “I’ve made a promise, so I’m bustin’ my balls trying to get everything done by the end of next semester. But that means taking Bashir’s finals at the end of _this_ semester.”

“I see,” Spock responds with something not quite a hum.

Leonard waits for a few seconds then rolls his eyes. “So will you help me or not?” 

Honestly, Spock thinks he's not very good at requesting favors. The sheer arrogance in his stance is almost enough to make Spock say no. Instead, he says: “I fail to see how I benefit from such an invasion of my privacy.”

Really, that smirk is simply unfair.

~~

Spock gives in with little fight after his initial resistance, figuring it would at least provide entertainment to work on reports regarding his species. They work, most often, in the campus cafeteria or one of its libraries. After nearly two, weeks, Leonard treats him to dinner in repayment. 

It’s late when Leonard’s back hits a wall in his livingroom with enough force that he expels a breathy grunt. He grins, sharp and amused, at Spock over the hand gripping his throat. 

“ _Kre’nath!_ " Spock spits. He’s standing sideways to Leonard, face tilted away to hide the sweat breaking out on his skin. Leonard can see it glistening damply in Spock’s buzzed hair, though, and it’s delightful.

“You say the sweetest things, darlin’,” Leonard drawls and reaches out to drag Spock in by the slick black uniform top. Spock doesn’t move, but tightens his hand around Leonard’s throat, shoving the cadet back into the wall again with more force than he probably should.

Spock can tell it’s not effective the way he means it to be. He can practically feel Leonard’s arousal spiking in the air. Like a cat rubbing against its owner’s legs, that arousal raises his own, and Spock shakes his head once, trying to dispel the impact his drink has had on him. 

“You spiked my drink,” Spock accuses, and there is Leonard’s smirk again. Spock growls at the sight of it. This human… This human dares… “You dared to. Spike. My. Drink.”

“I was getting impatient, and you’re still standing,” Leonard says, impressed. “That was a hell of a lot of chocolate sauce. _How_ are you still standing?”

Spock growls. “Stop. Speaking.” He flexes his hand and hears Leonard’s stilted intake of breath. He wants to hear it again, make him gasp for it. “I could have...you...arrested…”

“Or you could use that monster you’re passin’ off as a dick, and we could both have a good time,” Leonard suggests, tugging on Spock’s uniform again.

Spock gives into the tugging this time, shoving into Leonard with a growl. Their mouths slam together, teeth clacking in a way that should be painful for Leonard, but he’s laughing into the brutal excuse of a kiss, and then he bites. Hard. 

Spock’s mind whites out with static for a moment. Of course, Leonard bites, blunt teeth sinking into Spock’s lower lip until they can both taste his green blood spilling over their tongues. Spock makes a guttural noise, letting go of Leonard’s throat to tangle his fingers into Leonard’s hair and _yanks_ his head back against the wall. It gives Spock the better angle to take control of the kiss. 

He’s struggling against the intoxicants in his system, losing to the urge and the need to give up and sink into the haze of pleasure on offer. He doesn’t see Leonard’s hand move, but he feels it when Leonard pinches the stud in his ear and pulls in return. 

Spock gives in completely and takes a laughing Leonard to the floor in a very brief struggle he wins by virtue of superior strength. He straddles Leonard, unfastening the silver buttons of his uniform until he’s peeling it off and throwing it off to the side. Leonard’s hands immediately drag over Spock’s exposed chest and stomach, mapping and memorizing, and briefly, Spock considers that Leonard might be looking for a prime place to stab him.

Instead, he digs his nails into Spock’s skin and leaves scratches in the grooves of Spock’s abs. Little drops of green well up as Spock hisses and grinds their hips together. He can feel Leonard’s cock through his jeans, and it drives his arousal higher. He rolls his hips again, deft fingers working himself out of his slacks without moving too far from Leonard’s lap. They hit his uniform top across the room. 

“Fuckin’ look at you,” Leonard breathes. “Ain’t ever seen a drunk Vulcan, but god _damn_ , it’s a good look on you. Sure did pick good.”

Spock shoves his fingers into Leonard’s mouth to stop him talking. 

Oh, and Leonard certainly knows how sensitive a Vulcan’s hands are; he scrapes his teeth along each of the three digits trying to press his tongue down. He watches Spock over his hand, a challenge in his gaze, and Spock is unable to resist. 

He shoves his free hand down between them, flicking button then zipper open until his long fingers tease Leonard’s cock from his jeans. Leonard’s eyes go half-lidded, hips shifting up into Spock’s hand to help work the denim down his thighs. Spock squeezes him tight in warning, and this time, Leonard narrows his eyes. 

He bites again, down on Spock’s fingers. Spock’s hips jerk forward, precum beading at the tip of his dick to dribble against Leonard’s stomach. It’s then that Leonard realizes the discovery. He sucks at Spock’s fingers, tongue passing over the indents of his teeth, and bites down again. 

Spock hangs his head and rocks against Leonard, breath slipping from between his own teeth in sharp pants. He thrusts their cocks together, sliding in sweat and precum, and ignoring Leonard’s sudden efforts to get out of his jeans completely. 

Leonard grumbles around Spock’s fingers, trying to kick his legs free of his jeans without Spock’s help. Spock peers up at Leonard through the long fringe of his hair and smirks. His fingers shift, curling to grasp Leonard’s jaw with the press of the heel of his hand. 

“You may...have drugged me...but you...are _not_ in control,” Spock states heatedly. “You do not need...your legs.”

Leonard snarls, trying to shove up against Spock, but he’s let Spock have the upper hand for too long. He’s holding Leonard down easily even through the loose-limbed weightlessness he’s experiencing. He slides his fingers around Leonard’s mouth until he deems his hand slick enough.

Leonard is breathing harshly as Spock removes his fingers, but he’s obedient and remains still as he watches Spock shove his own fingers behind and inside himself. Leonard’s head thunks against the floor as he moans at the sight. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” Leonard complains adoringly. 

“ _Danik kesik,_ ” Spock purrs, rocking back against his fingers now and then against Leonard. It’s good; the stretch and burn of his touch spreading himself open. It’s been a very long time since he’s explored this side of himself. Years, actually, where he’s lost himself in the soft curves of women and their softer smiles. The void is trying to scream at him, but it’s deafened, muted by the intoxicants. 

He pulls his fingers free before others would consider him properly prepped, but neither of them are in the mood for proper preparation as Spock leans forward. Leonard clamps his hands around Spock’s waist, and Spock allows it as he sinks onto Leonard’s cock without any hesitation. 

Spock squeezes his eyes shut, tipping his head back as he lets Leonard settle inside him. He clenches around him, and is struck by the image of a long, black ponytail. He bares his teeth and flicks thoughts of Nyota away. He’ll deal with the consequences in the morning. 

But there’s guilt in his actions, and where there’s guilt, there’s a memory. A memory that threatens to tear him down, rip him apart. In Leonard’s place, blue eyes glare angrily up at Spock, and Spock snarls, slamming his fist into the floor beside Leonard’s head. The memory disappears just as Leonard thrusts his hips up into him. From there, the sex is quick; it’s rough and dirty, and it’s everything Spock knew it would be. 

~~

Spock awakens in the middle of the night, just a few hours after he and Leonard had gone to bed. It’s normal; Vulcans don’t need as much sleep. He slips out of Leonard’s bed and stretches. They’d dropped their clothes at the foot of the bed, and Spock leans down to pick up his uniform from the pile. As he dresses, he looks around Leonard’s room. His movements slow as his surroundings become clearer. 

He straightens, his expression going tight for a brief moment. He finishes dressing and stalks out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him hard enough to wake Leonard. 

By the time Leonard stumbles out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, Spock is leaning against the counter. He’s holding a mug of coffee in his hand, and he watches Leonard blink blearily, but catches the shine of something disappearing behind Leonard’s back. He files that away and sips his coffee as Leonard scrubs his hands over his face. 

“What the fuck is wrong wit’ you?” Leonard asks muzzily. He slumps over to the replicator to make himself a cup of coffee too. “It’s, like, the asscrack of nowhere near dawn.” He yawns, jaw cracking. He’s also still naked. 

Spock looks him over impassively, the chocolate having dissipated from his system during sleep. There’s no denying that Leonard is aesthetically pleasing, but Spock’s discovery is the most effective bucket of cold water. Spock’s lip wants to curl; he ignores the urge. 

“Tell me, Leonard, how long did it take you to find a cadet with the same build as yours.” 

Leonard’s expression doesn’t change much; he finishes his swallow of coffee and mutters: “Ah hell. Lack of books?”

“Lack of anything really,” Spock replies calmly. “In my experience, Medical Track tends to lend itself to an unorganized lifestyle. The apartment is too neat.”

“You caught me,” Leonard smirks, unconcerned. He scratches at the base of his cock absently and sets his mug aside.There’s a bruise below his left pectoral; Spock’s teeth rim the discolour. “I’m not really a cadet.”

“This is my shocked expression,” Spock says flatly. “It would be logical to speak quickly.”

“First off, I really _am_ a doctor,” Leonard replies, bracing his hands on the counter behind to either of his sides. “But I’m also a recruiter.”

“A recruiter.” Spock’s tone couldn’t possibly get any flatter. 

“Yep.” Leonard pops the “p”. Spock wants to throw his coffee in his face. 

“For whom?” He asks with an arched brow.

“The Silence.”

Spock blinks then actually chuckles. 

Leonard frowns. “That’s not the response we usually get.”

“It is a juvenile name for a juvenile faction,” Spock replies, inclining his head. He finishes his coffee and turns to set the mug in the sink. “You are known for little more than throwing tantrums and destroying Federation property.”

There’s silence, and when Spock turns back around, Leonard is smirking, arms crossed over his chest. “From what I’ve read, you’re really not that different from us.”

Spock ponders this and concedes with a slight shrug. “What does the Silence want with me? I am no more than a professor now.”

“You’ll never be just a professor, Spock. I’ve watched you for a while now, and I see the way the new recruits get your goat. Whatever’s in your craw about the Federation hasn’t changed a bit. We want your help.”

“Who else is part of this “we”?” Another Vulcan would know that the questions already signal Spock’s capitulation, but Leonard just answers carefully-casual.

“The Admiral gave me this mission,” Leonard says a little proudly. 

“The Admiral.” Spock pushes off the counter. “Two days, and then you may collect me.”

Leonard nods. 

“And if you are dishonest with me again, I will show you what I know of the human’s inner anatomy.” Spock leaves then, leaving Leonard to look after him with an admiring grin. 

~~

A few days later, Leonard leads Spock to a shuttle and then on to a jump point. He at least respects Spock enough not to insist on a blindfold, so Spock is able to catalogue the details of the ship they jump to. He doesn’t catch the name of it, though, and the few people they pass in the halls don’t mention it. In fact, they don’t speak at all when Spock and Leonard are nearby. They’re a species he doesn’t know; pale and short, they watch Spock and Leonard pass with backlit gazes.

“Your resistance members are smart to keep their mouths shut,” Spock states, curiosity creeping into him the deeper into the ship they go. It’s much bigger on the inside than its compact appearance would suggest. 

“They’re our engineers,” Leonard says after a moment. “We pulled them from Jetheia before the colonists could wipe them out with terraforming. Their species removes the tongues of their orphans and sends them into the bowels of their ships to run the engines.

“Before you ask, they were given a choice. They can choose to remain on our base or work with the resistance. The ones here chose to assist us. Everyone on this ship has truly chosen to be here.”

“I believe you,” Spock replies and finds that he truly does. Leonard’s tone when discussing the Jetheians was the same tone Spock’s fought against since… Well, Spock understands.

“Here we are,” Leonard says, coming to a stop at a door that Spock assumes is the Captain’s -or Admiral’s- ready room. He lifts his hand to buzz the door open, but pauses and glances at Spock. “Think you can keep a civil tongue? I know how sharp it can be.”

“Your attempts at innuendo are pointless,” Spock responds, folding his hands behind his back. “I am Vulcan; we are nothing but civil.”

“Right,” Leonard huffs. “I’ll remember that the next time I offer you a drink, my darlin’ drunkie.”

Leonard doesn’t see the glare Spock levels at the back of his head. 

To be fair, Spock doesn’t see much either past the sight that greets him as the doors slide open. The man standing at the hologram of a building straightens to face them both. 

“Admiral Pike.” Spock is confused, brows drawn down sharply. do y

“Professor Spock, how good of you to join us.” Pike waves them in, and Spock enters slowly, cautious as Leonard moving around the table in the center of the room. “And it’s not Admiral anymore, hasn’t been for some time.”

“I admit that your choice of retirement plans is surprising.” 

“I could say the same for your profession,” Pike says with a genial smile.

Spock’s voice is coolly distant. “I could not outright refuse my father’s wishes when he sold me to the Federation.”

“That is why we wanted you here,” Pike announces. “You’re still full of fight.”

“I assure you that I am not.”

“Vulcans can’t lie, but they can stretch the truth.” Pike looks pleased as Leonard snorts and settles himself off to the side. No one sits; the atmosphere is uncomfortable. 

“Get to the point, Admiral. I’ve no patience for small talk.” 

“Spock.” Leonard is not quiet with his admonishment, but Spock owes him no compliance. 

“I told you I’m not the Admiral here,” Pike says a little more sharply as he straightens away from the hologram.

“Then who holds that prestigious title?” Spock asks, nearly spitting the words in irritation. 

And like any good prompting, the door slides open again, and Spock turns to keep his back towards a wall. His vision is filled with red, and the void rails.

“You.” The word is done and gone in the air before Spock realizes he’s moved. The back of his hand stings with the force of his blow. He hears the clatter of chairs as Leonard vaults over the table. He’s raising his hand again, heartbreak and blind fury guiding his actions. 

“I got him!” Leonard is saying, and his hand slides around Spock’s wrist and his other arm slides around Spock’s waist, dragging him forcibly away from his victim. 

Spock doesn’t struggle, though he desperately wants to. He’s itching to get his hands around the throat in front of him, much more violently than he’d done to Leonard a few nights ago.

“It’s okay.” And Spock’s heart rate ratchets up at the sound of that voice. “I deserved it, and more.”

“How dare you bring me here,” Spock growls, positively acidic. “I made you a promise. If I ever saw you again, I would kill you, _Admiral_ Kirk.”

Leonard struggles to keep Spock back, which isn’t easy when every atom inside of Spock is straining to hurt, hurt, _hurt_ the person in front of him. “Christ, what did you _do_ to him?” Leonard exclaims.

Pike merely sighs and crosses his arms.

Winona touches the back of her hand to her bloodied mouth, her gaze steady on the others. “I killed my son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Kre’nath_ \- Bastard  
>  _Danik kesik_ \- Most likely


	3. The Wind in the Willows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock is greeted by The Silence, suffers from a flashback or two, and is distracted by Leonard continuously shoving things into him. Meanwhile, Winona Kirk still walks the ship, and Spock isn't one to leave a promise unfulfilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warning: There is a scene where the character is peripherally-aware of mutilation. It is NOT graphic. The character cannot see it, therefore the reader cannot see it. If this bothers you, it is near the end of the chapter, skip the paragraphs that come after "punishment".

Winona’s announcement is met neither with shock nor abhorrence, but with a snort from Pike and a prick from Leonard to Spock's neck. Spock doesn't understand. How could they ignore such a statement? How could no one...care… He's lost to a roll of lethargy, and soon, he succumbs to the drug Leonard has injected. 

When he wakes, he's resting on a standard cot in the ship's brig. There is an ache making itself known behind his brow, and a few strands of his hair irritate his eye. He goes to brush them away and finds his wrists bound together and to a chain that connects to the floor. 

“What did you give me?” Spock asks, toneless and angry. Behind him, he hears Leonard shift, familiar with the weight of the man's step.

“A sedative strong enough to drop a _hengrauggi_ ,” Leonard replies, coming to lean against the clear divide. “I almost didn't think it was gonna work. You’re one scary bastard, darlin’.”

Spock pushes against the bed to sit up as best he can. He feels sluggish, but the drug is burning away quickly in his bloodstream. He'll be free of it soon. “You have an alarming proclivity for putting things inside of me.”

Leonard smirks, and Spock doesn't need to look to see it. He can hear Leonard's amusement in his voice. “You asked for one, and I'm pretty sure you _took_ the other.”

“And the sedative?” Spock challenges, finally getting his feet to the floor to face Leonard. “I thought you wanted me here. Do you plan to keep me chained in containment?”

Leonard sucks his teeth, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “I really can't have you killing Ms. Kirk, so yeah, you're in here until you promise not to or… Or we reach the base.”

“That woman does not deserve to live,” Spock says evenly through clenched teeth.

“That may be.” Leonard crosses his arms again and peers at Spock, almost pouting. “Why'd you have to hit her, though?”

“I would have snapped her neck,” Spock says bluntly, truthfully. “I will do so, given the opportunity. It is quick, and it will be the only mercy I show her.”

“Mm,” Leonard hums. He's giving Spock a thoughtful look. “Because of her son?”

Spock's mouth thins, and he says nothing. He arches a brow and tugs pointedly at the old-fashioned manacles around his wrists.

“I ain't lettin’ you out,” Leonard drawls. “I'll come in there and you'll nerve pinch me or worse.”

“Or worse,” Spock agrees.

“Pity,” Leonard mourns with a hand to his chest. “I bet it'd be real fun to ride you like that.”

“I'd sooner you sedate me again,” Spock growls.

“Your mouth says no and... Okay, your eyes do, too, but your dick liked it plenty enough,” Leonard says smugly.

“You're infuriating,” Spock says after a moment, giving in to rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Leonard shrugs. “Look, maybe if you talk to me… If you-”

“No.”

“Spock.”

“I have no desire to become confidantes with you, Leonard. You lied to me, misrepresented yourself, drugged me _twice_ , and have me chained in the brig of ship I really should not be on.” Spock looks away, down to the chains. He remembers asking Jim to explain everything to him, being shot down.

“It's a sorry excuse, but I didn't have a choice. The Admiral gave me a mission, and I couldn't just refuse. I don't regret it either. I mean, I wasn't technically supposed to fuck you, but goddamn… I've only seen one sight more attractive than you on chocolate.”

“Fascinating,” Spock says quietly, tilting his head to the side so his fringe falls out of his eyes. “How long until we reach your...base? If I am to be held captive, I would like to know for how long I will call this cell home.”

Leonard seems to sag in disappointment, resignation. “You've been out for a day, but with warp, we should be there by the start of Alpha.”

“How curious that a rebel faction would run like the very Federation they spit on.” Spock watches Leonard roll his eyes and push away from the divide. He experiences a moment of...something at the thought of being left alone. “Who started the Silence?”

Leonard pauses, eyes narrowed in puzzled thought. “You're joking, right?”

Spock feels his eyebrow twitch. He obviously isn't, or he wouldn't be asking. Humans are so needlessly confusing. “I had assumed it was Pike when I saw him, but his insistence lends credence to Admiral Kirk. She never seemed the type to run the ship, but I never imagined her capable of murder either.”

Leonard's puzzlement has faded and been replaced by a surprisingly stony expression. “You're not joking.” He presses forward again, one hand splaying against the divide. “Spock, you may have a reputation, but I'm warning you. You gotta stop now and watch what you say. It's bad enough you struck Ms. Kirk; you keep this up and they'll hit back. Harder.”

Spock takes note of Leonard's seriousness, but lets his mouth quirk just a fraction. “They may try.”

Leonard bares his teeth in frustration. “When I'm cleaning your green-blooded ass off the floor, I'll remember you said that.”

“You do care,” Spock says, shaking his chains slightly.

Leonard draws back just a bit before pushing forward again. “Tell me what got you so angry that even your special God philosophy ain't enough to keep you from beating Federation agents to a pulp.”

~ _“Sahr-tor!_ ~

Spock stills, chills sweeping down his spine.

Leonard's voice tries to distract Spock even as he encourages the memories. “How many has it been? Two? Ten? Dozens?”

~ _“There's no time. If we don't do it now, then the whole belt is lost!”_

_“Mrs. Kirk!”_

_“Blow it.”_

_“No! Jim's-”_ ~

Leonard is backing away from the divide, features pale and eyes wide. The chains connected to Spock's wrists have snapped, and they dangle noisily from the motion of Spock having gotten to his feet. Spock can feel the void, that deep and dark blackness, creeping around his vision. He’s staring at Leonard, hands trembling in the air in front of him. 

It’s happening again. Spock knows, instinctively, that the ship is old enough that he could break the divide between them with enough applied pressure, but, while he hasn’t known Leonard for long, he has no true desire to hurt him. While he’s still conscious enough, the thought of hurting Leonard curdles in his gut, so he grits his teeth instead and tries to beat back the void crowding his vision. He forces himself to speak instead, tone clipped, words logical to himself, concise.

“Each of them, they deserved it,” he tells Leonard, lowering his hands purposely to his sides to appear less threatening. He’s not sure it works completely, but at least Leonard doesn’t look ready to bolt. 

“Why? What’d they do?” Leonard asks, one hand still held behind his back as if he’d gotten a hand on a weapon. Spock wouldn’t be surprised, especially if it’s another hypo full of sedatives.

Spock breathes in and out for a few moments, steadying himself further before he answers. “They took what did not belong to them. Filth and monsters who had no rights to what they put their hands on.”

“Rapists and pedophiles,” Leonard says slowly and plants both hands on his hips. “You… You kill them for taking the children.”

Spock just gazes back at Leonard, the tension in his frame easing as control returns to him. He doesn’t flex his fingers; it’s wasted movement. 

“Why didn’t you just rescue the children?” Leonard sounds more curious than accusing, but that tone is still clear to Spock. 

“It may have escaped your notice, but I am still young, and I was younger then. I did not have the resources at my disposal to rescue them all at the time. I removed the threats I could.”

Leonard scoffs with a shake of his head. “You’re little better than an animal with the “help” you provided. You’re lucky you’ve only bashed in the “bad guys”. You could’ve killed the kids when you raged out of control.”

Spock feels his features go blank. “Yes,” he agrees. “I could have.”

Leonard blinks at Spock, mouth slowly quirking then pulling fully into a smirk. “You crazy hobgoblin. I really wanna know more about this, but we don’t got the time. I’ll bring you some food, but I ain’t letting you out. I really don’t want to have to explain Ms. Kirk’s corpse when we get to base.”

“You will not let me go,” Spock concludes, and he already has his answer by the way Leonard sucks his teeth. 

“‘Fraid not. Despite this issue between you two, she specifically told me to recruit you, and until she tells me to dispose of you, you stay.”

“Dispose,” Spock repeats flatly. 

Leonard’s smirk turns too knowing for Spock’s tastes. “I’ve managed to drug a badass Vulcan twice now. Pretty sure I got a few more tricks up my sleeve to knock you on your ass. Maybe I’d even take advantage of you as you’re succumbing... See if I can’t get another good fuck out of you before you monster-rage yourself out of the situation. It’d be worth the broken bones.”

Spock is rethinking his decision on not harming Leonard. “There would be no cause for broken bones, Leonard. I would simply kill you.”

Leonard grins and slinks forwards to Spock’s cell again. “Talk dirty to me, sweetheart, and I might just drug you anyway,” he warns. “There might be a few others on this ship who’d like to go for a piece of that Vulcan ass.”

Spock refuses to rise to the bait. “You are a doctor,” he states, jumping to a logical conclusion, and Leonard arches a brow. “And by the way you’ve spoken of my own deeds, you would not allow your crew to sexually assault anyone on your ship, regardless of whether or not they are a prisoner.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Leonard retorts. 

“I would kill them before they could, and you would experience guilt.” Spock watches Leonard, the doctor’s mouth twisting. Then, Leonard shrugs. 

“You got me there, no use denying it. Besides, we want you in tip top shape if you’re going to be helping. Ms. Kirk or Pike might actually have my balls if I let you get hurt before we arrived. Besides, I think your smiling face might be a kink of mine.”

“Is there no one else aboard you may thrust your useless flirtations upon?” Spock asks dryly. 

“You didn’t find my thrusting so useless the other night,” Leonard reminds him, rubbing his fingers down the divide like he’s actually touching Spock. “You liked it so much, I thought you’d break my dick off and cast it for future use.”

“You have a very high opinion of your sexual prowess, Leonard,” Spock muses. “I confess myself curious as to who praised those bumbling attempts of barnyard fornication you consider skills.”

Leonard snorts, grinning. “You know, in that analogy, you’d be the animal. I guess I could see you as a horse, powerful muscles, lengthy stamina.”

“Shall I whinny for you too? Or perhaps I should act the swine and play about in the muck for you, since you like it dirty.” Spock wonders flatly.

“Fine, fine. I get it. I know when I’m not wanted. But it’ll get really lonely on base without a friend, darlin’.” Leonard raises his hands, stepping back from the cell, amused about the whole thing. 

A chirp sounds from Leonard’s hip. He gives Spock a once over before turning to answer his communicator. 

“Yeah, what? I’m dealing with the Vulcan,” he says into the communicator, and Spock’s expression flattens. 

“Comm-call from base,” a woman responds. It’s not Kirk, so Spock looks around the frame of the cell, cataloging weak points. “Sulu says you’ve got ten minutes before the field disrupts all communications.”

“I’ll take it in my office. Get someone down here with Vulcan fare in the next few minutes.”

“Yes, Doctor.” The communicator goes silent, and Leonard looks at Spock over his shoulder.

“Just sit tight and _try_ to behave? I don’t actually want you getting hurt.”

Spock contemplates violence on a few different levels, but, eventually, he just inclines his head in acknowledgment. Leonard sighs and leaves the brig, doors sliding shut behind him to leave Spock alone in the silence left behind. 

~~

This time, Leonard blindfolds Spock as they move through the ship. “I don’t want to be distracted by the bland stare of doom,” he says as he clicks the visor into place. 

“I assure you, it is not bland now by any means,” Spock replies, standing straight with his arms locked in mobile restraints behind his back. 

“I’m sure,” Leonard chuckles, placing a warm hand on Spock’s elbow to guide him through the ship. “Honestly, it’s just an excuse to get my hands all over you again.”

“That has a 97.833 percent chance of being the correct reasoning,” Spock says, and Leonard squeezes Spock’s elbow. They bicker, in their way that is quickly becoming normal, until Leonard begins to direct Spock down the gangplank. Spock goes rigid, sensing Kirk nearby. Leonard catches on fairly quickly and clucks his tongue. 

“Don’t even try it. She’s already halfway across the bay, and there’s enough security surrounding the ship that one of them might get a lucky shot.”

“I am beginning to truly dislike you, Leonard,” Spock says evenly. Sulu passes by them, talking to someone that Spock cannot identify about the propulsion switches. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Leonard says absently, rechecking Spock’s restraints as they come fully off the ship. “This could’ve gone so differently,” he mutters. “But you just had to hit her.”

“There is no point in lamenting my actions, Leonard,” Spock says, blindly turning his head towards Leonard’s voice. Leonard is close enough that their hair displaces each other’s. Neither of them step away. “I do not.”

“Past is the past bullshit?” Leonard scoffs, the sound low and harsh. “We both know that ain’t true, crazy little Vulcan, or you wouldn’t be tryin’ to kill her still.”

“The past is the past, Leonard, but a promise is something I always keep.”

“Yeah, well…” Leonard steps back as footsteps approach them. “We’ll see about that. Just try to keep your mouth shut for now, okay?”

“Doctor, I’m so glad to see you!” This woman’s voice was different than the one on the communicator. It was melodic and inherently suggestive. Spock tilted his head and inhaled subtly.

Orion. Given the purpose of the rebel faction and the severely muted scent of pheromones, she is most likely a rescued slave. Fascinating. 

“I was only gone four months, sweetheart.” Spock hears the sound of a kiss and the woman’s hum. Then, he hears her cry of delight before soft fingers begin poking at his shoulder, his chest. “Is this really him? He doesn’t look so scary.”

“Gaila, he’s restrained, not muzzled. Be careful where you stick those fingers,” Leonard warns her. He sounds a bit further away now, and Spock feels the need to step closer to him. He doesn’t like not being able to see them, especially in an unfamiliar environment. The vulnerability is grating; he may actually snap at her. 

Gaila laughs and falls back, presumably, to drape herself against Leonard. “I know you’d just reattach them, Doctor. Besides, it’s been pretty driven home that he’s off limits, so you don’t need to worry about my fingers, or anyone else’s, for that matter.”

There’s a pause in conversation. Spock wishes he could see Leonard’s expression for cues, because Leonard’s voice is carefully flat when he responds. 

“He’s off limits?”

“Janice Rand levels of off limits,” Gaila says, like it’s the highest end of a scale known only to the rebellion. Spock assumes this Janice Rand was perhaps assaulted while on base. Leonard curiously doesn’t answer that, and Gaila continues. “Anyway, I’m supposed to make him presentable. I’m assuming he’ll be manageable while that’s happening?”

“I…” Leonard trails off, and Spock almost takes a step towards him. “I’ll sit with you to make sure he behaves.”

“You’re the best, Doc,” Gaila simpers sweetly. “I’ll go on ahead and make sure everything’s ready. You bring him right along, okay?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Leonard says, tone distant as if he’s lost in thought. Gaila leaves, heels marking her exit with the clicks on the bay floor. After a few moments, Leonard takes Spock’s elbow again to lead him off once more. 

“You are troubled, Leonard,” Spock prompts. 

“A-plus observation, Spock,” Leonard snaps, fingers tightening on Spock’s arm. “Never let it be said you’re an idiot.”

“Not very nice, _Doctor_ ,” Spock replies, enjoying Leonard’s acerbic tone. He’s blinded and bound; he doesn’t mind finding pleasure in the little things.

“No one told me you were off limits,” Leonard finally says after they’ve been walking for a few minutes. There are more people, obviously, on the base than the ship. The base is loud and almost too intense for Spock’s Vulcan senses; all the noise and crush of bodies overwhelming. 

“While I understand the term, I cannot fathom why this is troubling you,” Spock muses and turns his head to look blindly towards Leonard.

“You wouldn’t. Just...forget it,” Leonard says quietly, and Spock’s brow is unable to arch due to the visor. 

“As you wish, Leonard,” Spock replies. The rest of the journey is spent in silence, and Spock is left to wonder about Gaila’s meaning about making him presentable. A quick pass through a sonic shower should be all he requires, though by the sound of it, it isn’t what she means. 

Leonard directs Spock around a corner, and they continue down a hall. It’s still as noisy as the rest of the base, but there’s a wall of **quiet** all of sudden, and Leonard stops Spock without a word. It’s the kind of quiet that lends itself importance or gravity, and Spock tries to reach out with his other senses, but all of the activity around them is crippling his advantages. 

Frustration mounts in the set of his shoulders, worsening as that **quiet** moves towards them. It feels too close now, but Spock can’t get an accurate read. There’s nothing to grasp, to analyze. Inside the restraints, his fingers ache to move.

And then it’s over. The **quiet** moves away, disappears, and Leonard relaxes. After another brief moment, he pulls Spock forward again. Spock feels as if his head has broken the surface of water; the base’s sounds rush back in as if they’d been muffled. Spock hadn’t even noticed. Perhaps it had been some sort of scanner or sterilizer. 

When they arrive at their destination, Gaila drags Spock into the what he assumes is the center of the room. Leonard lets her, moving off to the side to sit out of the way. Spock can tell that Leonard is still distracted by the “off limits” issue, but Spock can’t imagine it would include the sex they’d had. No one would even know. Unless Leonard or himself spilled the proverbial beans. 

“Alright!” Gaila singsongs. “Time to work my magic. It’s almost a shame, though.” She touches the longer side of Spock’s hair, tugging at the fringe. “I really dig this look. Is it the new Vulcan fad? I can’t imagine your Elders wearing their hair like this.”

Spock tenses, then goes to stand. “You are not changing my appearance.” 

“Sit down,” Leonard orders. “I don’t want to sedate you.”

The threat of it makes Spock’s lip curl, and Gaila’s fingernail taps his chin. “Better listen to him, honey. He’s a little handsy with those hypos. It’s kind of his thing.”

“That is an understatement,” Spock nearly growls. He reminds himself that his hair is only that. It will grow back, and he will imagine strangling this Orion woman until it does. As it is, the imagining doesn’t help as she manually shaves the rest of his head.

“I don’t know if I can get the styler around the visor,” Gaila says when she’s finished. “Can’t we take it off just long enough to do his hair?”

Leonard doesn’t answer verbally, but Spock hears him get up, then he’s standing right in front Spock. Gaila has moved behind him, most likely retrieving the styler. Spock blinks once, then once more when Leonard removes the blindfold. There are deep lines now around Leonard’s eyes and mouth. 

Spock frowns, but Leonard just shakes his head. The styler comes down over Spock’s head, and he’s blind again as the machine goes to work. It makes Spock’s ears tingle; he wants to rip the machine off and smash it to pieces. 

It’s over quickly, and Spock stares at Leonard as the doctor looks over the new style when Gaila trounces off to put the machine away. Leonard grimaces and that’s enough of an answer for Spock. He feels forced into a mold again, the sharp lines of the standard Vulcan cut heavy against his brow. 

Gaila returns and goes to take the stud out of Spock’s ear. Leonard flinches at the expression that comes over Spock’s face. “If you continue that attempt, I will remove your nails from your fingers.” 

The threat only serves to make her pause. “With my teeth, if necessary,” Spock warns.

Leonard jerks his chin at her over Spock’s head, and she finally backs off. “If you say so, sugar. Maybe you’re a little scary after all. I’ll just put out your clothes. I guess I’ll let you handle that, Doc.”

“Fine,” Leonard grits out, crossing his arms. 

“What is the point of this?” Spock demands to know. “If it is to bolster my anger, then it is assuredly working.”

“We’ve got orders,” Leonard said, looking away from Spock’s penetrating gaze to wherever Gaila was behind them. Spock could hear the rustle of clothing, but he continued to focus on Leonard. “And I’m not disobeyin’ again.”

Spock narrows his eyes, but Leonard just reaches out to tug Spock to his feet. “Are we going to have a problem if I take off your restraints?”

“You tell me, Leonard,” Spock states. They’re standing close by virtue of Leonard handling him, and Leonard actually steps back this time. Spock’s brows draw down to accompany his narrowed gaze. Spock is aware that Leonard can hold his own in a struggle, so whatever is troubling him worries Spock. Enough that Spock calmly dresses in the sweater, plain slacks, and plainer shoes Gaila hands to him in a pile.

Spock feels ridiculous, confined, _normal_. He _loathes_ it. He can tell by Leonard's continued grimace that he does too. He searches Leonard's gaze, focuses on him meaningfully.

“All will be well,” Spock hears himself say as his sight is stolen by the visor again. Leonard doesn't respond, and Spock is grateful for it. He does feel Leonard flinch when an alarm as loud as klaxxon bells goes off.

“Ready, Doc?” Gaila quips, bumping her elbow against Spock's arm after Leonard locks Spock's hands behind him again. “His audience is eager to meet the Huntsman of Quadrant Beta.”

“If they did their jobs as much as they slaved over gossip and trash entertainment, I wouldn't constantly see them in medical.” Leonard guides Spock to exit the room.

“Are you calling me trash now, Leonard?” Spock says to try and lessen the tension. 

“We'll see how well you burn,” Leonard mutters, pulling Spock down a different hallway away from the milling crowds heading to whatever platform Spock is about to be placed on.

Gaila keeps up a steady stream of nonsense until they stop. “I'll announce you,” she says, and Spock can practically see her bounce away. 

“For the love of anything you hold dear,” Leonard says quietly. “This one time, truly keep your mouth shut or you might lose your tongue.”

If Spock thought the base was loud before, it is nothing compared to the deafening roar that greets their walk into the room. It's almost suffocating, and Spock's instinct is to balk and pull back. Leonard's grip is firm, though, and his steps aren't faltering. Spock assumes they're in some sort of stadium or atrium-like setting. He is on display in terrifying vulnerability. He wonders how many he can kill before his honor feels restored.

They stop, and it takes a moment, but the crowd begins to quiet. “Stay here,” Leonard murmurs and moves forward, leaving Spock behind to strain his hearing for anything that might explain what was going to happen. He could sense Leonard still ahead of him, but there were too many people around to pinpoint Kirk or Pike, though he assumed they were present. 

“You’re late.” Spock stills at the soft, low tone. It’s clear that it’s coming from much further away than where he can still feel Leonard’s presence, but it carries well in the pin-drop silence that pervades the audience. Unfortunately, Spock knows what kind of man it takes to reprimand a crew member in front of so many. He girds himself for cocky posturing that amounts to nothing more than hot air. 

“He proved harder to pin down than we estimated, and he was difficult to persuade,” Leonard replies, tone cautiously mulish. 

“You know how I feel about excuses,” is the met response, and Spock hears Leonard shift restlessly. 

“Yes, Commander,” Leonard says, and the title does not help Spock in any way. 

“I confess myself disappointed,” Commander sighs. “I wanted to be further along by now.”

Leonard remains silent. 

“Difficult to persuade, you say,” Commander muses. “How did you manage it?”

“I drugged him and he agreed to come,” Leonard answers truthfully. 

“You drugged the Huntsman of Quadrant Beta? Just like that? And he agreed to come with you, just like that?” That soft voice sounds deceptively even; Spock tips his head slightly to the side. The hairs on his arms are standing. He thinks he suddenly understands why Leonard was worried.

“Yes, Commander,” Leonard replies, and he’s forcing his own voice to be steady, firm. 

“There’s nothing else you want to tell me?”

“Nothing of note that you don’t already know, Commander,” Leonard says, and even Spock believes him.

“I see,” Commander murmurs. “Huntsman, come forward.”

Spock doesn’t bother hesitating. He walks forward, steps sure despite being unable to see, and only stops when Leonard exhales shakily beside him. 

“You’ve caused quite a stir already, Huntsman,” Commander says, and now Spock can hear the slow tap of a finger against what is probably the arm of the Commander’s seat. 

“I assume by the theatrics of my abduction that is something your people enjoy,” Spock responds flatly. 

The Commander hums quietly. “Those theatrics are by your own hand. You struck Admiral Kirk with intent to kill, did you not?”

“I did,” Spock answers without regret. 

“Would you care to explain why?” Commander wonders.

“No.”

Amusement laces the Commander’s tone. “By your choice. Do you corroborate the doctor’s story? He managed to drug you, and you simply agreed to come along.”

“That is how it happened, yes.” Leonard’s tension is not helping Spock’s; it’s almost distracting. 

“I see. How curious.” The crowd’s tension is also ratcheting up, like sharks agitated by chum. “Gaila, come here, sweetheart.”

“Sir,” Gaila says meekly. 

“It’s okay, Gaila,” the Commander says, soft and placating. “Tell them what you told me.”

Spock connects it quickly, feels foolish for not remembering before. Orion females are inherently sexual beings. She can probably smell Leonard and Spock on each other like they just bathed in semen. Leonard is breathing shallowly. 

“They’ve had sex,” Gaila states.

“You fucked the Vulcan,” the Commander says before she finishes. “I don’t have many rules.”

There’s a low tsking sound, and possibly out of panic, Leonard says: “I didn’t know he was off limits. I was already on the mission.”

“Len,” and it was a name full of an ocean’s worth of resignation. The crowd begins to shift and murmur, but they’re quieted quickly again.

“I’m sorry,” Leonard breathes. 

“You’ve grown close already.”

Spock wants to deny the Commander’s claim, but he doesn’t lie.

“I’m sorry,” Leonard repeats. 

“Do you accept your actions?” 

“Yes, Commander,” Leonard responds, voice thick with emotion. 

“Very good. Gaila, you may return to your seat.” Gaila’s presence retreats and the Commander is moving. Spock listens to him stand, the soft rustle of clothing as he moves. It is only his Vulcan half that keeps him from flinching when the Commander is right in front of him. Suddenly, he recognizes that wall of **quiet** from earlier. The Commander’s mind is blank, blocked. A void. 

Spock’s own void claws at him, desperate to send him into darkness to protect him from what is about to happen.

There are fingers at Spock’s ear. They touch the silver stud, and Spock braces himself for the pain. A short hum from the Commander when he notices, and then he tears the stud from Spock’s ear. Spock can feel the immediate pouring of his blood down the side of his head. It soaks into the sweater and pools against his collarbone. The pain hits a second later, but with proper focus, he can ignore it. He still bares his teeth as the crowd hoots and hollers. 

Leonard swallows back a noise, though it sounds roughly in his throat. Spock wants to warn him not to draw attention back to himself, but he doesn’t think it would help. 

“That’s for the transgression against the Admiral,” the Commander says quietly. “If you touch her in violence again, you won’t find me so lenient. I hope you understand.”

He does. “I do.” That doesn’t mean that Spock won’t kill the bastard along with her. He wants to give in to the void, but the blankness of the Commander and Leonard’s trembling is keeping him grounded.

He feels the Commander nod and turn by the air he displaces. 

“Len,” the Commander says softly. “I cannot allow your transgression to go unpunished. You know that.”

“Yes,” Leonard replies, and though he still shakes, his voice sounds steadier. There’s the _schlik_ of steel sliding from its hiding place, and Spock turns his head. The Commander steps back away from them, and Spock is willing his restraints off in vain. The crowd is beginning to chant, the word inaudible due to sheer size. Spock thinks it might just be “blood”. His instincts are screaming, and the void is clawing at him. 

Leonard is moving, his breathing so quick it’s almost nonexistent. There’s a sickening, wet crunch, and Spock’s breathing speeds up to match Leonard’s, but then Leonard is gasping just as wetly. The crowd is screaming, loud and stamping. It’s not enough to drown out the damp crush of bone as it continues. 

By the time the steel hits the floor in front of them, burnt flesh it thick in the air and Spock is radiating uneasy fury. Leonard is clearly trying to swallow back vomit by the sounds emitting from his throat. The crowd is unruly, driven to bloodlust by Spock and Leonard’s injuries. The whole while, the Commander is **quiet** , blank, seemingly unaffected. Spock experiences warring emotions towards the man who could inspire such brutal loyalty; fear and the primal drive for power. 

“I will take that,” the Commander says after a moment, and he doesn’t sound amused or anything else, then: “Remove the Huntsman’s blindfold, Len. It’s time to for him to...see exactly who runs this rebellion.”

There’s sluggish movement and Leonard is kneeling in front of Spock. The visor is retracted. The world blurrily comes into view for Spock. Leonard is a sweaty mess in front of him. He’s pale and shaking, and half of his face is covered in blood. He’s missing an eye. 

Spock’s gaze darts to the side to see the blood puddled on the floor, the dagger discarded at the edge of it. It’s a medical dagger, one that clearly has cauterizing capabilities. His gaze flicks up, the blurriness receding. Over Leonard’s head is the Commander. He’s examining the mess of an eye in the palm of his hand. The half of his face Spock can see is a mess of jagged scars, but the gaze that meets his is one that Spock will never forget. 

“The Devil of Deneva,” Spock breathes. He really should’ve known not to underestimate James Tiberius Kirk.


	4. Bohemian Rhapsody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confronted with his past, Spock is left dealing with memories brought back from the void and the consequences of Jim's survival.

Realization stuns Spock for too many seconds. He’s staring at Jim, taking in every detail of the man he thought he would never see again. Leonard stands, blocking Jim from view, but he wavers, unsteady from the blood loss. From behind, Jim’s hand clasps Leonard’s bicep to steady him. He steps forward, bumping shoulders with Leonard as he looks down at Spock. 

Spock’s mind can’t reconcile the man in front of him as Jim. The broken, jagged rot in Spock’s core barely stirs at the sight of him, is left unanswered by the void in Jim. This can’t be Jim. This can’t be Jim.

“So you _do_ know me,” Jim says, still soft and low, and Spock pointedly bites his own tongue to stop himself speaking aloud by accident again. He’s too addled. He looks to Leonard, who is standing steadier now, then to the crowds that, by some unspoken command, are filing out; they are all rescues.

Spock frowns. It’s too incongruous. This is not the Jim Spock knew, but then again, Spock is hardly the same, as well. He still doesn’t respond, and Jim shrugs a shoulder in an easy roll of motion. He lifts his hand to Leonard’s cheek and smears his thumb in the blood. His other hand still holds Leonard’s eye. 

“Take him to medical, Len,” Jim orders, not taking his blue - Spock’s never seen such a blue since Jim’s - gaze from Spock’s. “I need to meet with Mom before I join you.”

“Do you want me to regenerate his ear?” Leonard asks, and he sounds perfectly normal now, like he hadn’t just mutilated himself out of punishment. 

“No.”

~ _”No! Jim’s still in there!” Spock is inconsolable as he watches the mine explode. He rips away from his father, stumbling out of the control room and into the thick, dust-laden air. It chokes him and brings tears to his eyes as the dust whips against his gaze, but he keeps going. The two flights of metal stairs threaten to trip him up, send him tumbling the rest of the way down, but he hits the ground running; Vulcan strength pushes him faster, harder, away from the cry of his name in his mother’s voice._

 _He can’t stop. He can’t. This is all his fault. If it hadn’t been for him, Jim wouldn’t even_ be _on this forsaken hell hole. He has to get to Jim before it’s too late. Jim’s consciousness is pulsing, urging him on, pumping energy through Spock’s limbs. He’s alive. He’s_ alive.

 _He’s still a hundred feet out from the mines when the newly-discovered matter implodes, casting everything in Spock’s sight in a red so deep that Spock feels like he’s on fire. Then, he realizes it’s because_ Jim _is on fire._

 _Their bond is burning, disintegrating just out of reach, as the mine is sucked in on itself rock by rock. The pieces crash together, huge and deafening._

“Jim!” _Spock screams for him in thought and voice, crushed to the ground under the pressure of the implosion. His entire being is straining out to Jim, attempting to shield and soothe and save. Jim’s reach back is weak, distant._

”Spock.” _Everything Spock needs to know is in that one tendril of thought from Jim. Spock’s throat seizes up. He’s blinded by tears tinted rose by the glow that make it seem like he’s viewing the destruction through Jim’s blood._ ”Sp-”

_The red matter winks out of existence, energy expended. The leftover debris slams to the ground as gravity retakes its control. It’s too late._

_The bond is shredded, the ends of it left fluttering in Jim’s absence. It’s too quiet now, as if the universe is already mourning what Spock can’t comprehend yet. Spock lies unmoving where the pressure put him, staring out at the crater left behind. Mentally, he’s scrambling, clutching desperately at the tattered remains of his bond._

_It’s not true. It can’t be true. Jim is still there. He’s just teasing Spock like he always does, because Spock cares_ so much, _and Jim has never been so happy in his life. So Jim is there, Spock_ knows _that he’s still there. All he has to do is keep pulling on the bond until it reels Jim in like a leash, a tether to life._

 _His hands are bloodied, stained by the severed ends, but Jim never shows, never responds or acknowledges Spock’s desperate pleas._ This isn’t right, _Spock thinks as hands clamp around his shoulders._

 _He “comes to” to find himself kneeling in the rubble of the crater. His nails are broken and ripped away, green staining the debris around him as he continues to dig at the rocks. There’s a security team swarming down into the crater now, presumably to clean up and contain, but Spock can’t focus, doesn’t_ understand. 

_“Where’s Jim?” Spock asks, and the hands on his shoulders clench and try to pull him away and out of the crater. He follows because he has no control over himself; his hands are too busy trying to patch the bond back together. “Where’s Jim?”_

_He kneels just outside the crater and his mother’s hands are cradling his face, wiping at his cheeks and brushing back his hair. Her mouth is moving quickly, but Spock can’t hear her despite how hard every atom of his being is straining for a sign of_ anything. 

_“Spock!”_

_Spock’s head whips upward at Winona’s voice. She’s picked her way carefully towards the mine; she’s pale and trembling. Spock remembers her looking the same way when they met last year on the_ Pegasus. _It doesn’t matter. All he truly sees now is the woman who condemned her son to death to save a_ mining belt, _condemned Spock to a half-life with a broken bond._

_He’s on her before he’s registered that he’s thrown his mother out of the way. Winona can fight, but Spock is lost to death and primal rage, so he drops her like a rock in water, quickly sinking after her to get his hands around her throat._

_There is no satisfaction in the feel of her windpipe contracting under his hands, but she’s not struggling anymore. She’s just watching him with eyes too close to Jim’s. He snarls wetly, his face still damp with tears, and streaks his blood against her skin as he shifts to knock her head against the ground._

_“I’ll kill you!” Spock yells. “I’ll kill you like you killed him!’_

_Her expression is soft, pain etched deep around her eyes and around her mouth that is quickly turning blue. She gently touches Spock’s wrist and he increases the pressure around her throat. He wants to feel it crush under his touch. He wants to feel her death like he feels Jim’s._

_“Do it,” she manages partially. It’s mostly the shape of the words, but Spock’s tortured heart skips a beat. “Please.”_

_This woman has lost so much, Spock knows. Her family. Her husband. All she had was Jim. All she had, and she threw it away so easily._

_“I will,” Spock promises, teeth bared and feeling sharp enough to rip out her jugular. “I’ll kill you.”_

_But there’s a bright burst of light behind Spock’s eyes and then weightlessness. Part of him still expects the ridiculous humming Jim likes to do as Spock falls asleep, but as a new, dark void swallows him up, there’s nothing but silence._ ~

Spock becomes aware again sitting in what appears to be medical. His vision remains unimpeded, but his hands are still restrained behind him. He’s sitting on one of the biobeds, back straight against the wall the bed is pressed up to. He blinks and turns his head towards the voices outside his room. 

The door is open and Spock can see Leonard working at a supply counter. His body language is easy, relaxed. Beside him, the Commander - _Jim_ \- is leaning back against the counter, arms crossed and an easy smile tugging at the scars lining his face.

Spock’s bond continues to lie in its rotting grave, and Jim continues to be a blank, blocked void. 

“You really should let her make you dinner,” Jim says, and whatever expression comes over Leonard’s face is enough to get Jim laughing. His words are still that soft-spoken tread, but that laugh…

Spock knows that laugh like the back of his own hand. The sound reverberates through him and makes a long-dead part of him ache fiercely. Jim is there, underneath that cruel facade and scarred exterior. Spock’s fingers try to curl inside the restraints. He doesn’t know if that will stop him from murdering everyone in this base. 

Perhaps, he will spare Jim for last. Spock believes he at least deserves an explanation before he makes sure Jim’s death sticks this time. 

And yet, that ache expands into an emotion Spock isn’t used to, can’t name at first, when Leonard turns his head and says: “The only Kirk I’m interested in is you,” and Jim tips his head to the side to let Leonard kiss his scarred cheekbone then his mouth. Possessiveness. 

Leonard is touching Jim. 

A dark and angry swell of possessiveness tunnels Spock’s vision as Leonard shifts, bringing his optical cavity partially into view. It does nothing to quell Spock’s building rage. Jim’s hands drop to the countertop, long, blunt fingers gripping the Corian material lightly. And while Jim’s mouth is eagerly responding to Leonard’s kiss, a sharp blue eye is now directly focused on Spock.

Spock believes his face may still be blank, but he honestly doesn’t know with the rage flooding his system. Jim’s visible brow arches, almost like a challenge, and he lifts a hand to grip the back of Leonard’s neck. He squeezes and bites down on Leonard’s lower lip. Leonard groans, and Spock bares his teeth. 

Jim’s other hand slips between his and Leonard’s body, and Spock can’t see it, but Leonard’s hips roll forward. Jim is still holding Spock’s gaze. He lets go of Leonard’s lip and kisses Leonard’s cheek below the missing eye. He squeezes Leonard’s neck again and drags his tongue up to the very rim of the optical cavity. 

“Len,” he murmurs, his voice full of what Spock knows is lust, and Leonard lowers himself to his knees to nuzzle into Jim’s cock through his pants. Spock doesn’t drop his eyes to watch. He holds Jim’s heartbreaking gaze, and Jim’s expression is far too intense for a simple blowjob. Not that Leonard’s skills would qualify as simple, Spock knows from experience. 

Jim’s hand goes into Leonard’s hair as Leonard works Jim free of his pants. Even then, Spock doesn’t allow himself to look, because to look would be to give in to whatever war of wills he and Jim are currently locked in. Jim’s mouth parts around a hiss and sigh, and he guides Leonard’s motion with the hand tangled in his hair. 

There’s a glint in Jim’s gaze, a determined tilt to the harsh line of his full mouth, almost like he’s _willing_ Spock to feel this with him. It gives Spock a moment’s mental pause. It’s probable, 92.7 percent likely, that Jim is suffering from the severed bond just like Spock.

Leonard’s head bobs, hand twisting around Jim’s cock to pull Jim forward down his throat as Spock watches Jim’s color rise. A flush spreads across Jim’s cheeks, mottled only by his injuries. Spock’s struck by the strong desire to watch Jim find release. He wants -needs- to see it happen. 

“Goddamn, I missed your mouth,” Jim breathes, words thick and strained, then he’s yanking Leonard’s head back so that he can stroke himself off across Leonard’s lips. To his credit, Leonard takes it stoically, not even flinching when splashes of Jim’s semen land perilously close to the empty socket.

Through it all, not once does Jim look away from Spock. Not until Leonard gets back to his feet and Jim cups his face to clean Leonard off with his tongue, ending it in another kiss. Leonard loops an arm around Jim’s waist to return it. Spock thinks he might take off Leonard’s hands and let him live after all.

“You should regenerate this,” Spock hears Jim murmur as he brushes a thumb under Leonard’s missing eye. 

Leonard inhales deeply and lets it out slowly before shrugging. “Eventually. Sometimes, it’s good to have a reminder.”

Jim tsks softly then nudges Leonard back with a hand on his hip. “Your patient is awake.”

“I certainly hope he enjoyed the show,” Leonard says dryly. “Are we fixing his ear now?”

“Be my guest,” Jim replies with a shrug. “Maybe next time, he’ll let people do their jobs properly. I didn’t like having to punish Gaila. I _like_ Gaila.”

Spock feels nothing at that pronouncement and stays settled against the wall as Leonard comes into the room with a medical tray. Jim follows him in, of course, leaning back against the wall by the door. Jim is all assured confidence and easy control; he’s casually lethal, and Spock knows that, whatever happens, the fight between them will lead to a bloody climax. 

“Punishing Gaila is like praising her,” Leonard snorts. “She gets off on you treating her normally like the rest of us. I’m surprised you don’t keep a mop in your quarters.”

“Why would I?” Jim wonders curiously. “She doesn’t mind cleaning up after herself.”

Leonard snorts again and sets the medical tray on the end of the biobed. He steps up to stand between Spock’s legs. “Turn your head for me, kid.”

“I believe the correct vernacular in this moment is “go fuck yourself”, _Doctor_ ,” Spock states. 

Jim’s mouth stretches into a grin. His amusement is not surprising, but unexpected. He’d always found it funny getting Spock to repeat the humans’ “bad language”. Spock still doesn’t understand what makes it bad, other than their appalling grammar. 

Spock continues to watch Jim, mostly because he finds he doesn't want to look at Leonard. Not because the missing eye is off-putting, but because he finds himself feeling betrayed. Though, there was no way for Leonard to know...was there?

Jim's grin fades into a smirk that pulls wickedly at his mouth. “Do you find me too distracting? You've the look of a man who's seen a ghost. Unless, is it this?” He gestures to his scars. “Does my pretty face disgust you?”

“On the contrary,” Spock replies, and talking with him is surreal. “I think it suits the walking corpse.”

The smirk twitches until Jim's expression twists into something slightly manic. “Dead man walking, right? Sorry to break it to you, Huntsman, but I'm as alive as you are. I'd be happy to prove it to you.”

Spock files the information for later, noting that Jim has yet to say his name, to acknowledge Spock as anything other than a hunter. He regards Jim quietly, uncaring of Leonard's impatient huff. “Certainly, all you need do is remove these restraints. We will then see who has more to prove.”

Leonard gets fed up and shoves Spock's head to the side to start working on Spock's ear.

“Tough guy like him? Don't waste the anesthetic,” Jim decides as he kicks off the wall. “Bring him to me later, Bones.”

“Sure thing, Jimmy,” Leonard acknowledges, tossing the anesthetizing hypo back on the tray. He picks up medical scissors instead to begin cutting around the damaged cartilage of Spock's ear.

Spock barely notices the pain of Leonard’s work. He’s forcing himself to breathe normally, to keep the logic of a cool temper at the forefront of his thoughts. He can’t get Jim’s flushed expression out from in front of his vision and, behind him, the restraints around his hands creak. 

“I’m getting from the tension that you two know each other,” Leonard muses. His breath is warm against Spock’s ear; it stings the fresh wound. 

“How astute, Doctor,” Spock answers and says no more.

Leonard huffs, twisting slightly to drop the scissors back on his tray. It reminds Spock that Leonard is standing between his legs. He could, conceivably, crack Leonard’s back and find one of the old bone cutters to laser through his restraints. He’s confident he could find Winona first and then use her death throes to lure Jim to him. 

“You could do that, or you could give me five minutes to fix your ear, and then I’ll unlock your cuffs,” Leonard says, watching Spock quietly. He has a sealant in his hand, and Spock narrows his eyes. 

“I wasn’t speaking aloud,” Spock says tartly, drawing his shoulders back. He doesn’t like how easily Leonard smiles at him. It’s decidedly grim with the missing eye. 

“You forget I can read that pointy face of yours like a book.” Leonard brushes his knuckles against Spock’s cheekbone. Spock doesn’t so much as twitch at the touch.

“You cannot possibly want to fuck, Doctor.” Spock frowns. “Or you truly are mad. Do you not fear your-” Spock can’t say lover. His stomach churns angrily at the thought. “Do you not fear Kirk?”

Leonard laughs, bracing himself on Spock’s thigh. He really has grown too familiar with Spock’s body. Perhaps Jim will take Leonard’s hands off _for_ Spock. 

“Me? Afraid of Jim?” Leonard laughs some more, mockingly wiping a tear from his empty eye socket. 

“I hardly find it that amusing,” Spock says in clipped tones, affronted. “He made you cut your eye out.”

“Oh, come off it, _Huntsman_ ,” Leonard replies, and this time, his voice is harder. “You’ve done worse to your ragtag group of Vulcans. Besides, he didn’t make me do anything. I chose this punishment.”

“What do you mean I’ve done worse? What do you know?” Spock asks, expression carefully blank.

Instead of answering, Leonard asks: “How do _you_ know Jim, and why hasn’t he killed you if you guys hate each other so much?”

“I do not hate him,” Spock answers reflexively, honestly. He could never hate Jim. Jim is his blood, his life; Jim is the only reason Spock is who he is. 

Leonard stares at him, eyes narrowed in thought. “Is that right?”

Spock pauses, thinks quickly. “Whatever you are thinking, you are wrong.”

Leonard smirks. “Maybe,” is all he says as he leans back in to finish regenerating Spock’s ear. Spock doesn’t know what to say. He’s trapped in the predicament of being sickeningly fond of Leonard, and wanting to rip him and the rest of the ship apart with just his hands. Leonard works in silence for a few minutes, and Spock lets him, trying to think of how Jim could have possibly survived the mine.

“I heard a story once of a Vulcan that crossed Jimmy’s path.”

“I assure you, I am not that Vulcan, regardless of what that story might say.” He tugs his head back to look at Leonard. Leonard blinks back at him, one dark eye amused. “It has been longer than five minutes, release me.”

“You’re such a child,” Leonard says and actually _ruffles_ Spock’s hair. 

“I am going to kill you,” Spock decides again, eyes staring ahead as Leonard steps away to move his tray and retrieve a device that will remove Spock’s restraints.

“Uh huh,” Leonard agrees then pointedly waves his hand at Spock. 

Spock’s brow furrows before he realizes that he needs to move himself so that Leonard can get to his restraints. He scoots forward, and there’s no real way to make that look graceful, twisting at his waist. 

“You have no instinct for self-preservation,” Spock realizes. “Leona-”

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about me,” Leonard cuts Spock off, shoving Spock down against the table. It’s an unnecessary move since the restraints had been easily accessible with Spock standing, but Spock understands the need to feel in control. “You didn’t spend two months researching me. Big bad Vulcan that you’re supposed to be, you just handed yourself over on a silver platter.”

Anger surges through Spock’s system again, and he narrows his eyes at the wall. “You’re speaking rather confidently for someone who is about to release me.”

“You’re not going to kill me,” Leonard replies, and he sounds frustrated and angry now too. The restraint laser rests against the swell of Spock’s ass for a moment. “You could’ve done it a hundred different ways by now. And, if you haven’t done it yet, you’re not going to. Hurt me, though? Yeah, probably. It ain’t anything I haven’t felt before, and whatever you decide to do can be healed, if not fixed completely. How anyone close to you thinks you’re a threat, I don’t know. Idiots, if you ask me.”

There’s a knot of worry and disgust in Spock’s stomach. He doesn’t respond at first because there are too many roots to grab hold of left from Leonard’s declaration. Leonard must realize this because he’s quiet, the laser’s still off, and one of his thumbs is stroking Spock’s hip through his slacks. He’s completely calling Spock on his front of violence, confident in whatever slim hold of affection he’s torn from Spock.

Leonard’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean Spock will tell him that. It just serves to show them both how much seeing Jim has thrown Spock off his game. He feels off kilter, like a globe jarred off its axis. Leonard knows so much, and Spock knows… Spock knows that he doesn’t know enough. 

First things first. “Is it always James Kirk?” He asks, making no attempts to move or shift away from Leonard. He feels Leonard’s thumb pause. 

“Is ‘what’ always Jim?” Leonard’s tone is hesitant with confusion. 

“Is he the one that always hurts you?” Spock needs to know, needs the affirmed knowledge to fuel the simmering rage in spoiling for a fight. 

Leonard sighs and pats Spock’s hip. “I told you, kid. He doesn’t hurt me. He hasn’t, and… Well, I guess I can’t say that he _never_ will, but it’s a minuscule possibility. He doesn’t hurt those who don’t deserve it.”

“And you did,” Spock states, because he already knows Leonard will say yes. “For having sex with me before you knew I was to be off-limits.”

“ _I_ decided my punishment,” Leonard growled, stretching his arm out to pinch the fresh meat of Spock’s healed ear. The pain comes, sharp and sweet, before Spock’s basic control washes it away. “It’s a show of obedience for the crowds. Gaila had probably already told others, and the story would’ve spread that the rule wasn’t as hard and fast as everyone thought. It would’ve caused chaos because you’re green ass ain’t the only one off-limits.”

“Janice Rand?” Spock recalls the name, and Leonard freezes.

“You keep her name out of your filthy mouth,” Leonard says, and it’s the first time Spock has heard Leonard sound so cold and low. It’s the first time that Spock believes that Leonard could truly hurt him should he have the mind to. “I told you when we got on the ship to keep your tongue to yourself, and that hasn’t changed.”

Spock is intrigued, but dredging up whatever story goes with that response would help him none at the moment. Showing obedience through mutilation, though, Spock understands. He thinks of T’Pring and, for a moment, he remembers the soft skin of her inner thighs and the husky edge of her voice as he expertly worked her body with his hands. 

Then, he remembers that she bonded anew after Spock left for Earth. Stonn will die a slow death by Spock’s hand for daring to take what was his. And it is now the same for Leonard. Regardless of his affiliations and Jim’s miraculous presence, Leonard has claimed affection from Spock, and if Jim had hurt him, Spock would not hesitate in repaying the favor. 

After all, there is no bond to stop him.

“Why did you bring me here?” Spock asks. “A straightforward answer would be appreciated.”

“Oh, it would, huh?” Leonard huffs and turns the laser on, bringing a soft hum to the background. He’s very warm against the back of Spock’s thighs. “Jim wanted you. Well, specifically, he wanted The Huntsman, but he knew it was you. He told me where to look.”

“What does he want me for?”

“Maybe he wants to fuck you too,” Leonard snorts. “Not my answer to give you. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

“Noted,” Spock murmurs as Leonard begins to laser off the restraints. “How did you come to work with him?”

“I’m his doctor,” Leonard says dryly and, out of the corner of Spock’s eye, he can see that Leonard has his tongue poking out between his teeth in concentration. 

“Leonard,” Spock says.

Leonard’s gaze flicks up very briefly then back down to his work. “We’re connected, so I’m here because I can’t be anywhere else. Not that I want to be anywhere else these days.”

“Connected?” Spock frowns. Even he, in his youth, knows that humans don’t form bonds between themselves the way Vulcans and some other species do. “Metaphorically?”

“Nope,” Leonard sighs, popping the ‘p’ again in that way that makes Spock want to slap him. “I used an Erufassan to heal him.”

Before the words have fully registered in Spock’s brain, the restraints are pulled apart and set aside. Spock dodges the butt of the laser as he jerks out from under Leonard. The doctor swears even as Spock’s arm catches him around the shoulder and drives him to the floor. Leonard coughs as he loses the air in his lungs to the impact and the weight of the Vulcan slamming into his stomach to straddle him. Spock doesn’t let him get his breath back, long-fingered hands closing around Leonard’s throat. 

“You had no right!” Spock says, low and hissing. He watches Leonard’s features pale, but Spock’s sight is turning red. 

Leonard struggles, stretching a hand for the laser that’s fallen just out of reach and prying at the fingers on his throat. He’s clearly confused by Spock’s reaction, but how could he know? How could he know what an Erufassan would do to a Vulcan bond? Such a thing is of the utmost rarity as a Vulcan’s bond is rarely broken. 

It is no surprise any longer why Spock’s rotted bond doesn’t react around Jim. Because Jim is compromised, returned to life by a guiding spirit, requiring ritualistic sacrifices to tie Jim’s life force to Leonard’s. Such a connection by a guiding spirit can only occur when the one being guided has no ties to the living. Spock and Jim’s bond had shorn itself upon Jim’s death, too new to cling to Jim’s departing soul without taking Spock with it. 

Despite how Spock had wished for it often in the months following Jim’s death.

Jim’s bond would have had nothing to reach for upon returning to this plane of existence. Except it had. It had had the man slowly dying beneath Spock. His hands clench and Leonard’s hand slackens, falling to the floor beside them. It is not Leonard’s fault, Spock knows this. He tells himself this until he remembers that the person responsible for this whole mess is somewhere else on this base. 

His lip curls, and he releases his hold on Leonard, who doesn’t even gasp in air like a normal person. He simply breathes deeply in once then again before his breath fans heavily out of his nose. He’s watching Spock through half-lidded eyes, hands still limp against the floor. The empty orbital socket mocks Spock silently, and Spock understands better now than he could have before.

Whatever violence is inflicted upon Leonard, Jim will feel. Pain is the only sense strong enough to pass through an Erufassan tether, and even knowing this -surely by now-, Leonard chose his punishment knowing that Jim would feel every second of the act along with Leonard. It’s no small feat that they’re both still as sane as they are.

But, perhaps Leonard is right, Spock doesn’t know a goddamn thing. 

“You _are_ his Vulcan,” Leonard says, voice scratched and rough.

“I do not belong to him-” not anymore “-or anyone else, Leonard McCoy.” Spock stands and steps back, kicking the laser so that it slides beneath one of the beds. Leonard doesn’t take his eye from Spock as he rolls to his knees then pushes himself up to his feet. 

“Of course not,” Leonard snorts. “Why would he want you when it’s your fault he died? Why’d you do it?”

“Clarify,” Spock demands, brushing off the accusation of his guilt. He has always blamed himself for Jim’s death. 

“Why’d you make him take the blame?” 

The question is such an easy one that Spock allows his mouth to quirk, mood shifting erratically as the taste of familiar words comes to his tongue. 

“No one can make James Tiberius do anything,” he replies easily. “His choices are his own, regardless of the opinions of others. I doubt that even death can change that. However, if you truly believe I could sway his actions, then I am flattered you think so highly of me. Though, Leonard, I’m afraid it will do you very little good here.”

“What in the hell do yo-uh.” Leonard’s eye rolls back in his head as Spock administers a nerve pinch, and he feels calm enough to catch Leonard before he hits the floor. Spock scoops Leonard onto the biobed after knocking the restraint pieces off to the floor. He steps back and evaluates his situation. 

He looks at Leonard’s prone body, the bruises on his throat. Spock’s fingers twitch and the memory slips around him like a soft breeze. 

~ _”What did yo-Oh my go-you-.” Jim slumps to the floor, leaning slightly to the side as his the heel of his palm slips in a small puddle of blood. It’s a murky shade blending red and green, putrid, and there’s so much of it now on the floor of the exam room._

_Spock feels dizzy, disoriented; he wants to throw up at the sight of it. His hands hurt, fingernails screaming at him and, when he looks, there are some that are bent and others that are broken, torn free from their beds. There’s pain in his face, too, where Rehanon had defended himself. The pain radiates throughout his entire body, too much for his fractured control to whisk away._

_Rehanon is a lifeless obstacle now between Spock and Jim. Spock drags his blurring sight up to Jim. He doesn’t know if it’s just his gaze or if Jim is really shaking, but he thinks it’s Jim. Jim is pushing trembling hands into his hair, and Spock can see that there are unshed tears in Jim’s eyes._

_A blink, another, and then Jim is rolling to his feet, uncaring of the blood he smears along his knees and hands. With seemingly barely any thought, he gets his pants back around his waist and rights the rest of his clothing. Then, he’s grabbing at whatever medical instruments are nearby and covering them carefully in Rehanon’s blood only._

_Spock sways where he kneels, taking in all of Jim’s actions like he was watching one of the holos his mother loved. He is outside, nothing more than an observer; he cannot fathom interfering. He realizes, though, that he is shaking, too, and where Jim’s tears are unshed, Spock’s own are rolling, fat and unchecked, over his cheeks._

_He flinches when one of the heavy scanners hits the floor near Rehanon’s head. He stares at it for longer than is warranted until Jim’s eyes -so blue, bluer than anything Spock has ever seen; he wants to drown in them and never surface- fill his vision. Spock glances down at Jim’s mouth to see his lips moving, but all Spock can hear is static and a distant, piercing tone that is long and unbroken._

_“-n’t have much time,” Jim is saying when Spock is able to force his hearing under control. Jim’s gripping Spock’s biceps. He’s strong enough to rattle Spock slightly when he’s shaken. Spock’s unsteady grip finds Jim’s wrists. His fingers are sticky with blood, spreading the filth further up Jim’s arms. “It was self-defense, okay? Spock, do you understand? What you did was self-defense.”_

_Spock should laugh; he should scoff at Jim for a_ human _trying to explain the logic of one’s actions to a_ Vulcan. _He can’t, though, because all he can think about is Rehanon’s hands on Jim’s thighs, the resigned shame in Jim’s gaze when their eyes had met, the way Rehanon’s skull had caved in under Spock’s hands._

_Spock swallows, tasting the metallic tang of blood in the air, feels it saturating his pores. He wonders if he looks as bad as Jim. He feels like a monster._

Mother, _he thinks,_ Forgive your son, but I was only protecting… I was protecting...

_Spock had only protected what was his._

_And he knows now, kneeling in the blood and gore of the_ Pegasus’ _Captain, that the buzzing in his head that is rocking through his body… He knows now exactly what he had protected. The buzzing is a word, an understanding, a promise._

“T’hy’la,” _Spock says, and it’s the first thing he’s said since he stepped foot in the exam room._

 _Jim’s entire being_ bows _towards the word even as his expression twists in exhausted confusion. “What?! Spock, what did you say?”_

_But by then, it is too late. Security is pouring through the doorway and the memory becomes a blur of action and words, too many words, and where were they taking Jim? Why were they taking him? Spock is the one that killed the Captain, not Jim! Jim’s lying! Jim’s lying!_

_But no one listens to Spock, though his father watches Spock like he sees to the very core of his son. He may very well be for all that Spock feels broken open. Jim is taken from Spock as they're led in separate directions. Spock is led by his father and the First Officer-cum-Acting Captain. Jim… Jim is hauled off by security, and he can hear Jim's mother._

_There is steel in her voice and demands on her tongue, and Spock wants to he next to her, demanding to be kept with Jim._

_A woman, gentle looking and soft spoken crouches in front of Spock, trying to capture his attention. He stares at her, that's all he gives. He remains sullen and silent; in shock, they say, but that's not it at all._

_And Spock knows his father knows it. He steps out of the room to speak with Spock's mother who is more frantic than anyone else, and Spock hears_ “tel” _and_ “telan” _and breathes deeply._

_The woman is tending to Spock's wounds, quietly trying to soothe him with mindless chatter. He feels a desire to shove her away, into the wall, again and again until she, too, slumps to the floor. He doesn't startle at it, he merely examines it and realizes then that it simply is not only his emotion._

_He's no longer alone in his mind and, just as he thinks this, the bond opens like a sigh, like it'd always been there and Spock had just needed to open the door._

Spock?

_No fear or hesitancy lace his name; only a genuine curiosity and a soul-deep understanding that they both will explore in time._

Jim. ~

Spock leaves Leonard and the memory behind. Standing outside of the medical bay, he pauses to gain a sense of the base ahead of him. It's only a bit quieter than it was when they'd first docked, but it makes no difference now.

Spock knows exactly what to look for. It calls to him like his own void. He pinpoints the negative space that is Jim and allows it to guide his steps forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tel/Telan - Bond/Bonding


	5. (Dangerous) Your Love Is Always Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock finally has a moment alone with Jim and learns why, after all these years, Jim finally revealed himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay, but man, this chapter kicked my ass. It's longer than the others by a few pages and a couple thousand words. 
> 
> To be safe, I'm going to say expect another two weeks for the next chapter, and two weeks after that for the final chapter. The outline is finished, and I just need a day or two break after this monster broke my brain. Please enjoy!

Perhaps the crew is wiser than Spock was willing to credit them, because none of them try to stop him on his way to Jim. It is either that or they simply believe him to be one of them now. He thinks it foolish either way, but simply because he knows he's on his way to murder their leader.

Jim’s void leads Spock throughout the base and to the very heart of it. He turns a corner and stops. At the end of the hallway, Winona stands in his way, and every one of Spock's hackles rise to greet her.

“I can't let you do this, Spock,” she says, and Spock steps towards her, stopping again when she matches him with her own step forward. 

“You are no more in control of my actions now than when I was a child,” Spock replies, anger taut in his tone. His fingers twitch, wanting to curl around her throat like before. It's a dream, and it's a nightmare.

“You have no idea what's going on,” Winona says, harsh and entreating in the same breath. 

“Nor do I care. Had I simply been a stranger, the hospitality alone would incite disapproval,” Spock responds, and now he stalks towards where she stands firm. All the while, that void beats at him, claws into him desperately. “I am no stranger, though, Ambassador, and I am going to fulfill my promise to you. You've had enough reprieve.”

Winona lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. “You couldn't kill me then, and you can't now.”

“You must know that after your death, I will go on to kill Jim,” Spock says quietly, so close now that their shoes touch. He knows he's exuding his desire to kill; he sees the fine tremor under her skin.

“You need to listen to me,” Winona says, almost a whisper. She swallows reflexively as Spock touches her throat with the tips of his fingers. It's intimate in its threat, thumb stroking down the hollow to press against her pulse. She keeps hold of his gaze, a blue faded past its years. The color disgusts Spock.

Logic dictates that he do exactly what she says; stop and listen to her words. He will kill her anyway, a moment or two surely would be no waste. There's a wave of violence that laps up his spine like the ocean at his feet. He hates seawater, but he obeys and presses his thumb deeper, watching her eyes dilate slightly.

“Spock,” Winona says, and he approves of the steadiness of her voice. “There's much you don't know. He's…”

Spock arches a brow then realizes her gaze has slipped to the side over his shoulder. Spock doesn't pull his hand away, but he becomes very aware of that **quiet** behind him.

“Mother,” Jim says pleasantly. “I see it's not safe to let you wander around on your own.”

Something is holding Spock back now, refusing to let him take his hand, to let him spin and take Jim out. He stands, frozen to Winona, and he growls, low and dangerous. Her eyes meet Spock’s one more, only very briefly before she’s peering at her son again. 

“It's fine, Jim,” Winona says. “He was just apologizing.”

“I'm sure,” Jim says, and the smile is serpent slick in his tone. Spock’s gaze goes half-lidded at the sound, a shiver working down his body against the violence in his system. “Run along now, Mother.”

Spock’s fingers release Winona as she steps back. She flicks a glance at Spock then disappears back the way Spock had come. He turns to face Jim, whose hands are casually in his pockets as he rocks on his heels. 

“Did you have fun with Bones?” Jim wonders, gaze knowing and sly. 

Spock feels a pang of desolation; it's a hollow, empty thing that cradles the end of his bond in a fetid grave. He allows it to simmer, to boil away the memory of fresh sunlight and the dew staining his robes, of Jim.

“Doctor McCoy was adequate company, as always,” Spock replies, vowing to himself, here and now, that he won't lose himself to this Jim, this unknown variable that is inserting itself into Spock’s life like it has always been there, like it belongs there. There is nothing but the past stringing them together, so it will be easy to cut those ties and move on.

He straightens his stance, folding his hands behind his back. He thinks he might be able to forget this in the long-away future, lost in the dark and alone, because Vulcans bond for life and the thought now of finding someone that isn't Jim…

...He'll take the comfort of Jim's permanent death at his hands, and maybe -just maybe- they'll both know peace.

Or something like it.

Jim's mouth curves into the scarring on his cheek. “Something like that,” he echoes Spock’s thoughts eerily. He tips his head, indicating the door to his left. “You should come in. I'm sure you've got plenty of questions, Huntsman.” 

It's not really a suggestion, and while Spock could easily overpower Jim, it's only logical that he collect what information he can before returning home. Then, Jim surprises him by turning his back and heading through the door, seemingly trusting Spock at his back.

Spock’s stomach absolutely does nothing at the thought. It's just as likely that Jim doesn't perceive him as a threat. He refrains from baring his teeth as the the display would be wasted in the empty hallway. He feels murderous, inquisitive, off-foot...lonely.

His mother would have approved of his range of emotions. With that thought, Spock follows Jim into a large room divided by a panel markedly Vulcan based off of its geometric design. Spock sees the corner of an unmade bed just beyond it, but turns his attention to Jim as glasses clink together.

Jim stands at a table near the large desk dominating the rest of the room. It's just as messy as the glimpse of Jim's bed. For some reason, Spock finds it endearing. He wants to burn it to the ground. Jim pours a rich amber liquor into one glass and a darker brown liquid into the second. 

“Why are you here?” Spock asks as the sharp bitterness of chocolate plumes around Jim. It settles against Spock’s olfactory receptors, just like Jim's soft huff of amusement settles against his skin.

Jim turns, holding both glasses in one hand and pulling out one of the guest chairs at the desk. “Are you going to ask me the meaning of life next?” He wonders, gesturing for Spock to take a seat as he rounds the desk to sit in the main chair. It creaks, worn and abused. 

It's fitting, Spock decides, and though he prefers to stand, he takes the offered seat. He sits straight, serious and unyielding. When Jim sets both drinks on the desk between them, Spock resists the urge to purposely inhale.

“I do not drink,” Spock says flatly, adding 'often' to himself, and Jim grins.

“I have it on good authority that you're lying, but as it happens… This one is mine.” Jim shrugs and pushes the liquor closer to Spock, taking the chocolate beverage for himself. He swallows a mouthful then settles back in his seat, rolling the edge of the glass on the desk as he contemplates Spock.

Spock watches Jim lick his lips, obviously chasing the aftertaste. This is much worse than actively imbibing the chocolate, he decides, left to imagining just how rich Jim's mouth would taste if Spock were to claim it. 

“Because I'm planning something big.”

The words float to Spock from a distance. Jim's mouth ticks upward, and Spock looks away from it, up to Jim's eyes. They're amused and crinkled at the corners. Spock arches a brow in question.

“The answer to your question,” Jim clarifies, tapping the glass once. “Usually, I'm not on base. I don't like it much to tell you the truth. It's not the answer you want, but I'm not in the mood for that topic.”

Spock categorizes Jim's words, his inflection. He remains straight in his seat, but his sternness relaxes enough to take a sip of the liquor. It's untainted, not that he suspects Jim would poison him, but he is always careful. Notwithstanding his recent experiences with Leonard, that is. He regards his glass for a moment to center himself before looking back at Jim. 

“And that is why you had the doctor bring me in?” Spock asks, long fingers wrapping fully around his glass. He sets it on the desk, but doesn’t let go. It feels a little like an anchor, and he worries that he’s giving too much away by the very fact that he’s remained in Jim’s vicinity without violence. Jim should already be crushed under Spock’s boot, a step up from the muck of the past that is sucking at Spock’s legs. “This big plan of yours, you require assistance of a Vulcan nature.”

Jim’s gaze cuts to the side for a brief moment, and that is its own tell. He stands, framing the rim of his drink with his fingertips as he paces away from the desk to a cabinet near the dividing panel. Spock downs the rest of his own drink while Jim’s back is turned and sets the glass aside noiselessly. When Jim turns around, he eyes the empty glass but says nothing, returning to his seat with a data chip hanging from a short chain. He places it halfway across the desk, and Spock arches a brow. 

“I don’t require a _Vulcan_. I need the Huntsman; you,” Jim says firmly, expression fierce. Spock ignores the chill down his spine, a premonition of what this could be about. His heart rate increases by forty-seven percent. 

“There are many mercenaries available for hire,” Spock replies, not assuming that Jim means him personally. “Those of whom would welcome the pay I’m sure your group can afford by the looks of it.”

“Don’t be obtuse.” Jim very nearly cuts Spock’s words off with the harshly-spat retort. “Use that big Vulcan brain of yours and ask yourself why I’d bring you in now.” He leans forward, bracing his arms on the desk. He still holds the chocolate in his hand; the drink is almost gone, and it twinges at the edges of Spock’s awareness that it’s barely enough for a sip. Jim should just finish it already so that Spock can lick the dregs of it from Jim’s mouth as he steals the life from his lungs. 

“No,” he hears himself say, refocuses on Jim, and doesn’t take back the negation.

Jim presses on, relentless as a fire burns bright in his eyes. “After all this time, why would I do this to you?”

Spock knows now what’s on the data chip between them. He feels the sensations of hot and cold chase themselves across his skin. His heart thumps painfully in his side; once, twice, and then keeps a steadily-increased pace. He tries to regulate it back to its normal resting rate, but Jim is _there_ and the truth is between them; unspoken and ugly, it’s practically a wailing specter come to spread its putrid disease. 

He can’t bring himself to acknowledge it aloud. The void clogs his throat, brings him memories of stories woven by a younger version of the man across from him. Stories built of hope and revenge where Spock had tried to redirect them to closure and their future. It hadn’t worked then, and Spock had been swept away by the grandiose schemes of his _t’hy’la_ and their entwining emotions. 

He remembers the echo of Jim’s pain and suffering, recalls the rage that had swept through them both as Jim’s memories had spread across Spock’s limited experience like shadows in a dark land. There were wings in the inky black, beating out whispered promises of power and control; both of which they each lacked in their youth. 

“Don’t break on me now.” Jim’s huff is impatient, signalling that Spock has been quiet for too long. “If you’re this easy, you’ll never be of any use to me.”

Instantly, Spock is wrathfully calm. It settles into his bones, a familiar second skin. Spock stands, and just a moment before he moves again, Jim snatches the data chip off the desk. The desk crashes into the panel, crushing it under the heavy material against the bed and a dresser that had been on the other side of the Vulcan divider. A few pieces had splintered in Spock’s grip, and he drops them now on the floor between himself and where Jim still sits. 

Spock advances once; it’s enough to bring himself into Jim’s space. “I apologize, _Commander_ , but I do not believe I heard you correctly. Please repeat yourself.”

The data chip flips slowly through Jim’s fingers. He smiles, an unpleasant reminder of how sweet he can be, and stands with all the grace of a predator who’s getting his meal exactly how he wanted it. 

What a shame that he doesn’t realize that Spock will not be so easily eaten. 

“If I can break you so easily so soon,” Jim almost murmurs, his tone low and inviting. “You’re useless to me, a waste of the recycled air in my base.”

Spock doesn’t move and they’re toe-to-toe, mirroring how close Spock stood to Jim’s mother earlier. This time, though, he’s not looking down at her, but meeting Jim’s gaze straight on. Jim is provoking him, deliberately. Spock knows this, knows it as deeply as he once knew Jim. After all, that was how their bond had worked; Jim’s emotional state bled into Spock and Spock… Well, Spock had craved every bit of it. 

“Where’s the Vulcan that wiped out _Terran E-Class 42_ for destroying the refugee camps?” Jim asks, adopting boredom now, a curious disinterest. “Bathed the Orion children in the blood of their slave masters?” 

“That is enough.”

“I want the Vulcan that flayed the skin from Captain Soval’s hands for losing himself to _pon farr_ and attempting to claim your beloved.”

Spock’s fingers twitch and curl into his palms. They don’t look away from each other, and Spock knows the next words before they leave the tip of Jim’s tongue. 

“I want _my_ Vulcan that crushed a man’s skull for touching me.”

_~”You should not allow them to believe this lie,” Spock says quietly, hands folded primly over his knees. He’s kneeling in front of the clear divider between himself and Jim. Jim is lying on his back on the cot attached to the wall. One foot is swinging back and forth, socked toes barely brushing the floor. He hasn’t looked at Spock since he snuck in. He doesn’t need to, seeing and feeling Spock just fine through the bond that is still steadily forming between them._

_“You and me both know it’s too late for that, Spock,” Jim huffs, slowing his foot until it stops. He can feel Spock’s distress, though, and he sits up to scrubs his hands over his face. There are fresh bandages on Jim’s fingers, but Spock deliberately avoids thinking about them. He understands now that Jim doesn’t appreciate acknowledgement of his perceived weakness, of his humanity. “Besides, it ain’t so bad. They believed the self-defense, so now I’m just…” He trails off with a shrug._

_“They are sending you with the other survivors until you have come-of-age.” Spock drops his gaze to his hands as Jim comes over to sit, cross-legged, on the other side of the divider._

_“You heard Mom,” Jim says, dipping his head to search for and catch Spock’s gaze. When they connect, they both lift their heads back up in tandem, Jim’s mouth quirking. There’s a chipped tooth on Jim’s left side, a cuspid that took the impact against the biobed. Spock ignores that too. “She’ll bring you to visit when she comes.”_

_Spock watches Jim for a moment then replies: “You don’t believe her.”_

_Jim sucks his teeth and grins a lopsided thing, a bloom of chastisement circles between them. “She ain’t that good at keepin’ promises.”_

_Spock is shaking his head, reaching across the unstable bond to bolster the feeling of their connection. His touch is unsteady, hesitant. He is too young to have fully grasped the meaning of a bond, let alone a bond such as the one he now shares with Jim. He think he succeeds, though, when the set of Jim’s shoulders inch down just a bit in relaxation._

_“You are my_ t’hy’la, _Jim. Not everyone here understands, but the ones that matter do, and they know it is a crime to keep two such as us apart while our bond is so new. We will have to visit often to ensure a permanent, healthy bond. Your mother will have no choice but to accept this. In fact,” Spock allows Jim’s burgeoning amusement to infect him, smiling just a little_ , “my _mother will insist upon it until my father ensures my prompt arrival for each visit.”_

_“Your mom’s way scarier than mine.” Jim is grinning, though, so Spock knows he doesn’t truly mean the word in its most basic definition. “She said she wanted to take me home and stuff me full of sweets until I rolled around like ball on account of bein’ so big.”_

_Jim is picturing the description even as he says it, sharing glimpses of it with Spock as best he can. It will take Jim much longer to learn how to control his end of the bond. His mother still finds it difficult at times even with the length of her relationship with his father. Spock isn’t worried; he knows that he and Jim have a lifetime ahead of them to learn and grow together. He’s met Jim now, so he can be patient._

_“While I understand her need to make sure we do not go hungry, I see no benefit in being so encumbered that you have trouble moving.”_

_Jim laughs, lighting up their bond with unfiltered happiness at Spock’s response. In turn, Spock glows with pride at making Jim laugh. He lifts a hand, pressing it to the divider. Jim matches him effortlessly, fingers spreading to copy the_ Ta’al. _His gaze is bright, unfettered_ , open. _It takes Spock’s breath away._

_“I ain’t ever met a Vulcan like you, Spock,” Jim says, the memory of their first encounter flitting like a hummingbird across the bond._

_“You never will,” Spock replies tightly. “Because I am yours, and I am the only one.”_

_Jim hums and there’s a thrum in their bond, an echo of the desire to make someone feel the same pain as he does. Spock thinks of how he'd wanted to hurt the nurse, to keep fighting, after his fight with Rehannon. That thrum turns into a sigh of approval, and Jim’s fingers curl against the glass, violent in their tension. Spock is caught by the fire in Jim’s eyes._

_“That’s right,” Jim breathes. “You’re mine. My Vulcan.”_

_“As you are mine,” Spock says. “And no one will dare harm you while I stand beside you.”_

_“Because you’ll kill them.” Blunt and truthful, Jim is holding Spock’s gaze like it’s a vow Spock is making. Spock can’t look away, can’t move his hand from the divider. Every single atom that forms him is drawn, magnetized, to Jim. Beneath the increasing thrum, Jim’s mind is chanting ‘mine, mine, **mine** ’. _

_And Spock accepts it readily. “Yes.”~_

“I am not your Vulcan.” Spock speaks the words easily, because they’re true. He’s disgusted for having to keep reminding himself of that. He watches Jim’s expression sour so completely that he imagines he can feel Jim’s fury as he once could, as if it were his own. 

The open hostility disappears almost instantly, leaving Spock with nothing but the phantom anger whispering over his skin. The fine hairs at the back of his neck are standing; he ignores the sensation. What he can’t ignore is Jim daring to step right into him, daring to stand chest-to-chest with Spock, and daring to smirk in Spock’s face. 

“If that were true, then I wouldn’t still be standing, would I?” Jim said, unblinking and challenging; clearly insane for challenging a violent Vulcan. Somewhere, Spock suspects the Fates - a human concept he’d read about some time ago - worship at the feet of Jim’s likeness, honoring him with gifts humans shouldn’t possess. Perhaps that is Jim’s reward for the trauma he’d endured for years. “Anyone else would be paste on the floor, wouldn’t they? But you just can’t do it to me. I wonder why that is, hm?”

Spock can’t even open his mouth. His jaw is clenched so tightly to avoid rising to Jim’s bait that the moment he so much as even twitches again, he’ll break. So, of course, Jim pushes further, pushes in until his mouth is _there_ , speaking the words against Spock’s lips with one sure, heated breath that still carries the sweetness of chocolate.

“Because you’re mine.”

Instead of red, Spock sees blue. Jim is so close, so tangible, that Spock falls. He drowns in the depth’s of Jim’s gaze, and he lets the rage drive the breath from his lungs in a snarl. He barely registers the sheer relief in Jim’s sigh as the heel of Spock’s palm punches into his chest. 

“You dare claim me still?” Spock snarls. “I have _mourned_ your death. You are _dead_ to me.” The still-rational part of Spock’s mind, sliver though it may be, half expects Jim to be able to fight him off, but his primal side gives a cry of blood lust when Jim stumbles back to double over. He’s fighting to draw in air, one arm sliding over his chest in instinctive protection, never taking his eyes off of Spock. 

Which means, there’s no surprise when Spock advances immediately. He grabs Jim’s other arm, that hand still clutching the data chip, and drives his cross-palm into it. He feels the elbow give, hears the splinter of bone and then Jim’s bitten-off grunt. Dropping Jim’s arm, Spock stoops enough to grab Jim’s knee on the same side. His fingers are already digging into the patella as he drags Jim’s leg out from under him. The fragile bone crumbles under his touch and adrenaline is fresh and fast in his system as Jim is slammed to the ground. 

Jim’s troubled breathing registers distantly, alongside the fact that he isn’t defending himself at all. Spock uses the very plain shoe he’d been gifted by the Silence to pin Jim’s chest to the floor. He meets Jim’s gaze, the blue now dimmed a bit from pain. He holds Jim’s leg suspended, threatening, trembling with the release. 

Jim smiles up at him, and it’s red with blood. “There you are.” 

A roaring rushes through Spock’s mind, the void rejoicing as its echoed by his voice. He uses the pressure of his hand and arm to twist and snap Jim’s fibula. The leg drops from his grip, hitting the floor limply, broken. He lowers himself to one knee then the other, straddling Jim’s thighs and purposely applying weight to the injured leg. Jim’s grin only sharpens. 

The rage is spent in less than ten seconds. It dies down, receding from the forefront of Spock’s mind slowly until he can place a hand on the floor beside Jim’s head. He spreads his fingers flat, bracing himself as he leans over Jim, angling down against him to increase the pressure.

“Hello there,” Jim purrs, voice thick with pain and something else, that something else that presses an insistent heat against Spock. The scent of it is prevalent in the air, and Spock curls his lips back from his teeth because he can’t deny his own answering arousal. It’s something he’s never been able to shake; a lingering trait he’s absorbed from his bond with Jim. 

Jim likes violence and the sharp bite of agony, and Spock learned to like it too. He’s hard and restrained by his slacks, driven by adrenaline and instinct, and he briefly ponders the onset of _pon farr_ , but logical thinking -what’s left of it momentarily- disperses the concern. The only explanation is the madness of Jim’s proximity. He stares down at Jim, observing the stuttering rise and fall of Jim’s chest, the fluttering pulse in the hollow of his throat.

Jim shifts his broken arm, and Spock doesn’t move to stop him, watching as the crippled movement brings Jim’s hand within an unacceptable range to Spock’s. He can practically taste the pain firing through Jim’s system with the propinquity, and almost shifts to close the gap.

“Don’t you wonder what it would be like again?” Jim asks softly, unable to work the angle any further; the ruptured bones won’t allow him to curve his arm enough. His pinky stops a pitiful length away from Spock’s exposed wrist.

Spock always wonders, trapped in the hell of a dead bond and a mocking void, an endless sea of black and **quiet** where Jim used to be. But Jim is here, right beneath Spock. And instead of glaring angrily like Spock had envisioned before, Jim’s half-lidded and aroused after Spock has beaten him. It would be so easy to lower himself, curve downward and take what he wants, take Jim’s mouth, touch fingers, and try to reclaim what they once had. 

But he’s still a void, still blocked and silent when Spock dares to creep a tendril of thought Jim’s way; it’s something he can’t understand yet. The only logical answer has to be the Erufassen connection between Jim and Leonard. This close together, there should be no other reason why Jim and Spock can’t reconnect their bond. Surely, the universe would see to it as it once did.

Jim rocks up at what he must see in Spock’s expression, dragging their hips together once before Spock forces Jim to still with the weight of his body. He won’t let Jim take this from him; the choice to pursue what Jim is offering is Spock’s alone to make. Even aroused, Spock can’t shake the betrayal driven into him every second he looks at Jim, can’t shake the insanity he’s endured because of the man beneath him. 

“Do you wish to reconnect?” Spock asks. “Is that what you offer? Or are you simply trying to sway me to your mission, using me as you would anyone with the skills you require? Would you ever have come to me, sought me out, otherwise?”

“Oh come on,” Jim complains in a huff. It slurs a little. “Does it need to be about that? You’re hard; I’m hard. We’re both _human_ , and we’re all a little mad here. Nothing wrong with fucking crazy, Spock. You’ve done it before. Deep in the mine, remember? Our first argument; you let me take you against the rocks, no oil, no prep…. You begged me for it, and I gave you what you wanted.”

Spock swallows once as he listens to Jim then sits up. A week before Jim had died; the heat of Jim’s words is frozen in place by the reminder. He wants to turn his gaze away, but he does not. The data chip lies at the edge of his peripheral, dropped from him breaking Jim’s arm. He leans over to pick it up, grinding weight down against Jim’s leg further and feeling Jim tense through the motion.

“I will go,” Spock says after a moment, composed now as if the brutality never occurred, as if they weren’t both achingly hard against each other. 

“With me,” Jim rasps. His lashes are trembling as he begins to lose the fight to consciousness. “I’m going.”

“I would expect nothing less when it comes to confronting Kodos,” Spock replies. He presses his other hand to Jim’s chest again, bearing down against it just to feel the wheeze of pain rattle inside him. “And after-”

Jim’s eyes shut, finally releasing Spock from the trap of his gaze. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Spock arches a brow, trying to ascertain the sincerity in Jim’s statement. 

“After that bastard is dead, I want you to kill me.”

Spock smiles.

~~

Leonard is not the one treating Jim when the nurse finally pulls the curtain back. She’s asking Jim to wait patiently while the replicator reforms his fibula, ticking away information on the PADD in her hands. Jim’s chest is bare from the treatment to his sternum; his shirt lies discarded at the foot of the biobed he and Leonard are sitting on. It doesn't surprise Spock that Leonard isn’t setting the machines; Leonard suffers the same pain as Jim does from his injuries. As soon as he gets a visual of Spock standing across the hall, though, he shoves off the bed. 

“You goddamn, green-blooded, knife-eared, piece-of-shit, _hobgoblin_!” Leonard shouts. “I oughta inject you with the Neptune Plague and then disembowel you before you turn into jello!”

“Sit down, Bones,” Jim says pleasantly, leaning back on his hand that isn’t broken, “and shut up before you give me a headache.” 

His gaze sweeps over Spock where he stands, relaxed in parade rest. Spock returns his gaze with a bland look, his hands bound behind his back once more. He is composed outwardly, but he is still derailed mentally where arousal wars with sanity; another problem he seems cursed to carry around Jim as no one else has ever managed to incite such emotion within him. 

He wonders if he would’ve given in atop Jim if they hadn’t been interrupted. Leonard had burst into Jim’s quarters, in agony, with security to haul Spock away from Jim with force that would have injured a human. Despite Jim's insistence that everything was fine, a compromise had been reached and Spock had been restrained. Again. He is not surprised considering Jim seems to find it endlessly amusing.

“You- He-” Leonard takes a deep breath and points a threatening finger in Spock’s direction. Spock’s brow arches. “Sternal fractures. Broken ulna and a compromised pisiform. Shattered patella and fibula, and a medial malleolus fracture.”

“You are correct, Doctor,” Spock says, because he _is_ the one who’d given Jim the injuries. He’s very aware of what he’d chosen to break. He only wishes it hadn’t affected him so thoroughly. He is having a hard time looking away from Jim; the length of him, the feel of him still fresh in his thoughts. 

“I swear to that heathen god of yours that if our hands are in pain from this forever, I’m going to practice taking the skin off you in one whole piece.”

Jim rolls his eyes and grabs the scruff of Leonard’s neck with his injured hand. Spock watches Leonard pale a little with the echo of pain in his own hand. He begins to feel apologetic for causing Leonard pain, hurting him as well as Jim, but then he remembers why that’s possible, and the guilt is swept away by a grim satisfaction. His affectionate regard for Leonard only carries the doctor so far.

“Sit. Down.” Jim’s soft tone brooks no argument this time, and Leonard obeys with a put-upon huff. Jim lightly flicks the eye patch that now adorns Leonard’s face. It earns Jim a glare that’s less threatening for being only half if Jim’s grin is anything to go by. 

Spock knows that hardly anything could spoil the good mood Jim is in, and he finds himself distantly wishing he could share that feeling with him. He also knows that Jim is very aware of his presence still in the room. And yet, Spock feels out of place, outside, a...third wheel, if one must. It curls in his stomach, acidic and ridiculous, the longer he watches Jim and Leonard interact. They're easy in a way Spock and Jim are meant to be, in a way they never got the chance to be. He doesn’t even know if they could have that now. The void is ever present in Spock, as Jim, screaming silence that reminds Spock that Jim hadn’t cared enough to come to him. But he wants it, and Spock… 

Damn him to every species’ hell, he still wants Jim. He wants the chance to reform their bond and to feel Jim’s rightful claim on him. He wants Jim to reject Leonard’s touch because it does nothing but make him ache for Spock’s.

Jim glances at him as if he can actually know Spock’s thoughts. His thumb idly rubs into the base of Leonard's neck, eyes lidding and mouth curving, daring even after Spock had proven his willingness to hurt him.

“You’ve got the most dour expression,” Jim says, and that soft tone he tends towards curls around the words in a mocking lilt. “Did you learn that from Papa Vulcan?”

“After living through the death of a _t’hy’la_ , I’ve found it quite natural to wear a flat expression when needed,” Spock responds, his tone as flat as his expression. Then, as an afterthought: “Though, yes, my father does seem to champion a calm veneer.”

Leonard snorts, but says nothing as he crosses his arms. Jim squeezes Leonard’s neck again briefly, and Spock can see the slight wince from Leonard, the tensing of his own hand. Jim is causing himself pain again. It does nothing to quell Spock’s arousal. He very nearly bites his tongue to help stave it off.

“Go away, Bones,” Jim says after a moment. 

“Are you se-”

“Bones,” Jim repeats, and he doesn’t sound as casual about it anymore. Spock’s eyebrow ticks upward slightly, watching Bones shove off the bed again to glare at them both. Then, he blows out a breath and relaxes. 

“Fuck up the regenerator, and you’re gonna wish he’d killed you,” Leonard says to Jim, smile a touch mad. 

Jim touches his tongue to his canine, smirking. “Promise?”

If possible, Spock’s expression flattens further. He shifts, only a little, but it’s enough to draw Jim’s attention again. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Leonard muttered. “I’ll be back later.”

It’s quiet after Leonard leaves the room, save for the almost-silent hum of the regenerator encasing Jim’s leg. Spock braces himself, _wills_ his crumbling resistance to stand firm. Jim opens his mouth, and Spock knows he’s already failed.

“No.”

Jim purses his mouth, eyeing Spock strategically. Spock can see the gears working behind his gaze. “Come here.”

“No,” Spock repeats. 

“What if I said please?” Jim grins. 

“I would consider requesting the nurse to check your cranial scans,” Spock answers, reluctantly enjoying the quiet laugh Jim gifts him. 

“I’m hobbled at the moment, and you’re restrained. Not much we can do to each other even if you get closer.” Jim says this with straight face, eyes widening a fraction to appear innocent and thoughtful. 

Jim has never looked innocent. It’s a wasted attempt.

“If I actually believed that were true, I would not waste my time standing here,” Spock informs him. He does roll his shoulders once, adjusting the angle where his bound hands rest. Jim’s gaze sweeps over him once more, lingering at his thighs, his hips.

“Please?” Jim requests. The guileless tone of it actually moves Spock forward before he realizes it, and he visibly rolls his eyes when Jim grins at him again. “See? You _do_ still respond to manners.”

“I do not need my hands to injure you,” Spock warns him and reminds himself. His breathing has increased almost imperceptibly again and the restraint creaks as he rolls his shoulders. The charade is in vain as even now, especially now, Jim knows him too well. 

He reaches out between them, not breaking eye contact with Spock as his hand hesitates mockingly then purposely hooks into Spock’s slacks to drag him closer to the biobed. Spock’s thighs press against the bed, and he clenches his jaw. He needs to stop this, to step back and drag Jim’s broken body to the floor if he must. 

They’re going to kill Kodos and then Spock is going to kill him. There is no room for yearning after what they’ve lost. He tries to call up his pain, the agony of Jim’s death. 

_~/”Spock!”/~_

“I’m waiting,” Jim challenges him, brows raised. His fingers, from knuckles to tips, are a burning brand against Spock’s pelvis and lower abdomen. He slides his thumb up the front of Spock’s slacks to the clasp. The memory slips away, and Jim licks his lips. “Well?”

Spock imagines then that he can feel Jim through the void, straining to reach him just as desperately. His side hurts, heart beating painfully at thought of Jim sharing this misery, unable to sate it in any other way. They might not be able get back what they’d lost, but they can still have this. Spock can still give Jim this.

“If you bite, I will snap your neck,” Spock states, and he’s at least able to hide the break in his voice as he gives in to Jim and the need that Jim has always stirred in him.

Jim groans, gaze dark as he pushes Spock’s slacks down. Spock makes no move to stop him, warnings blaring through his mind until the **quiet** of the void, of Jim, swallows them whole and drowns them out. Jim licks his lips again as he pulls Spock’s cock free from the material. He trails his fingers over the subtle differences of Spock’s length, light and teasing.

“What would you do then? Ignore the erection or finish yourself?” Jim asks, and Spock waits to answer until Jim’s hand wraps around him fully to stroke once. On the downstroke, he smirks.

“Perhaps I will find the Admiral to see if you received your oral skills from your mother.” He’s anticipating the pain before Jim’s nails dig into the sensitive flesh of his shaft. It only spurs Spock on, flooding him with bright arousal until he’s hard in Jim’s grip. Much deeper, and Jim’s fingers will be drawing slits of green blood. 

“I’ll tolerate a lot, Spock,” Jim says softly. “But I’ve already warned you about touching my mom.” His thumb does draw blood then, and it beads up above the nail before sliding down between his fingers. Spock’s hips twitch and still. 

“Do not worry, Jim,” Spock replies, his name coming on a sigh as Jim begins stroking in a casual, steady pace. The restraint binding him creaks as he shifts his arms. This is a horrendously bad idea, but like Jim said, Spock is half human, and even he falls prey to physical pleasure. Leonard is proof enough, and this is Jim. Jim’s eyes on him. Jim’s body. Jim’s touch relearning the shape of him. 

It’s enough to make his thoughts hazy and his head spin. He wants this in a visceral, animalistic way. And, if he’s honest with himself, the moment Jim was revealed and Spock stayed, he’d known that any vow he'd make would be in vain. His path will always lead him here, lead him to giving Jim everything that is in his power to give, even when that means giving Jim all of himself. 

“Do not worry,” Spock repeats, giving away how breathless he is just to see Jim’s pupils dilate further, to hear Jim’s heart rate trip and speed up. He pushes his hips into each of Jim’s downstrokes, thighs working against the biobed with each movement. “You will be dead when I get to her.”

Jim’s gaze shoots up to Spock’s face, his lip curling away from his teeth. It’s a warning, but Spock doesn’t care. All he cares about at the moment are the exquisite bursts of sensation where Jim is bleeding his cock. He searches for friction in Jim’s hand. 

“And I will give her what she asked for all those years ago,” Spock husks, head tipped at a slant as if he still has his fringe to keep out of his eyes. “And then a little more. I have noticed human females have a fetish for Vulcan cock.”

It’s that one step too far for the cruel possessive streak Jim has in regards to Spock. So when, in the blink of an eye, Jim is sinking his teeth into Spock’s shaft, Spock knows he provoked him purposely. 

His orgasm is agonizing, breathtaking.

He shudders, hips held still by the threat of ripping Jim’s teeth along his cock, and Jim swallows down Spock’s release with a sharp glare through his lashes. Spock finds the glittering anger mesmerizing, stifling the urge to lean down and claim the taste of himself out of Jim’s mouth when he finally pulls back. 

There’s green blood painting Jim’s lips and chin. Spock is entranced, but Jim is clearly unhappy with him, for all that he got his way. After a moment though, he rolls his eyes and runs his tongue across his lower lip. “You should have that looked at. It’s easy to catch diseases in bases this old.”

Spock just takes a step back, his cock lying against his hip and pants, wet and abused. Blood streaks the dark material. “It seems good fortune to already be in medical then.”

The nurse chooses that moment to return, as life goes sometimes, takes one glance at them, and gives them both a look of disgust. She pulls the curtain, saying, “I’ll just get McCoy,” and fairly stomps away.


	6. Death Becomes Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission is put into motion with little more than revenge leading the charge, and Spock is provided more pieces to Jim's puzzle.

“Clearly, you’re not thinking this through,” Pike says, tapping his fingers on the war table like he’s two seconds away from punching it. Frustration etches its way along the deep lines of his face, and Winona briefly touches his shoulder. “You’re letting your past cloud your judgement.”

Jim snorts so hard that Leonard winces. “Where’ve you been, old man? My past has been _driving_ my judgement since that bastard locked me in a room.”

Winona’s gaze slides down, away from Jim, but Pike is having none of it. He taps the table again before pointing at Jim. “You’re not planning a detain-and-kill, Jim. You’d gather your strike crew for it and, forgive me if I’ve gone blind in my ‘old age’, but I don’t see Hikaru here. You’re planning a goddamn suicide mission. 

“If you’re right, if the intel is right… Jim, he’s built himself a fortress in a Dominion Dreadnought. A _dreadnought_ , Jim.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time,” Jim says, letting his head drop back against his chair. He pushes his foot out against the chair Leonard is sitting in, rotating his own back and forth with a little bit of pressure. He looks up over the back of it, meeting Spock’s gaze. His mouth quirks, and Spock doesn’t miss the delight that chases itself across Jim’s expression. 

Spock might feel more charitable towards Jim’s good mood if the blood flow to his hands wasn’t still restricted. It’s something he could ignore if he really chose to, but he’s distracted by the sheer awareness the rest of his body is still experiencing having been physically intimate with Jim. He fears it is a slope he won’t be able to ascend again, and he’s slid to the bottom into Jim’s waiting void. 

Winona’s presence across the room is the only thing keeping Spock’s head above that void and, consequently, the only thing keeping him from sliding into Jim’s lap and giving in again. The look Jim is giving him currently seems to concur with Spock’s thoughts, but Jim has been distracted for far too long by simply staring at him. He jerks suddenly, head dropping to glare at Leonard, who’s sporting -of all things- a fresh papercut. 

“Where did you even get that?” Jim asks petulantly, eyeing the small piece of paper Leonard is tucking into his pocket. 

“Jim, _please_ ,” Pike interrupts.

Jim sighs and shakes out the stinging in his finger before getting to his feet. He grips the back of his chair, swaying for a moment towards Spock like he’s drawn by force. With the stillness around Spock’s splinted bond, Spock knows it’s most likely just that Jim doesn’t want to have this conversation. 

“He may have a dreadnought, Chris, but his crew doesn’t fill it. At most, he has close to sixty.”

“Oh, is that all?” Pike asks sarcastically. “And how many of us are you planning on taking?”

Jim’s cocked eyebrow is answer enough. 

Pike and Leonard begin to speak over themselves, but Spock wins the battle without even trying. 

“I believe that to be unwise, Jim,” Spock says steadily. “While the success rate of a smaller unit than your security team is high, a two-man mission is too great a risk. Your survival rate would drop drastically.”

“Planning on killing me the moment we’re alone, Spock?” Jim asks, mocking and inviting in the same breath.

“Most likely,” Spock responds. After all, he will most likely always plan on it; that does not mean he would go through with it...could go through with it.

“Absolutely not,” Winona states firmly, and Jim grins at whatever expression leaks Spock’s distaste for her. “I’m not letting you go alone with him.”

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion on the matter,” Jim says drolly. He smacks the top of the chair lightly and moves around the table. Pike straightens as Jim comes closer. “Or yours, Chris, for that matter.

“Your lack of faith in my skills is appalling, but not unexpected. I am mature enough to understand that I don’t know how I’ll react coming face-to-face with Kodos.” Jim stops, gaze off to the side as he becomes lost in a memory of his past that Spock half expects to be shown. Six years Jim’s been dead, and it’s only take a handful of days to ruin every defense Spock had thought he’d come to erect. 

“And because I’m so mature,” he continues, “You’re coming with me. It’ll be the five of us, and no more. If you don’t accept that, then you’re welcome to stay behind and stand by your principles.”

“You’re making a mistake, kid,” Pike growls tightly. Jim’s mood twists, and his **quiet** is almost deafening. Spock thinks Pike is either oblivious or stupid, because he continues. “I don’t confess to understand all that crap that’s going on between you and Spock, but that’s no reason to go off half-cocked and get yourself killed.” 

Jim turns to look at Pike, head tilted. He moves forward, steps slow and silent, coming to stop just a foot away from Pike. 

“I’m not scared of you, kid,” Pike sighs, and it’s tired and mostly sad. “I’m too old for this shit.”

“By all means, then.” Jim’s lip curls up a little. “Continue questioning me, and I’ll make sure you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Out of nowhere, Winona’s palm cracks against Jim’s cheek, snapping his head to the right. Behind him, Leonard bites his tongue and comes out of his seat to stop Spock from moving forward. 

“Stand down, Jim. I’m sick of it.” Winona waits a breath, watching the angry stillness on her son’s face. “Do you even hear yourself right now, or has every one of your brain cells fled to your goddamn dick? No? Sit down and shut up for once in your damn life.”

Neither of them pay any attention to Leonard and Spock’s minor scuffle that stops completely when Jim takes a step back then takes the closest seat. 

“The five of us will be fine,” Winona says, staring Pike into quiet and Jim into a guilty fidget. “Besides, with Spock, we can count ourselves as six, at least. If you let him go, probably seven. I suggest - _suggest_ , that we pack light and take the smaller shuttle. The _Nautilus_ has better dampening capabilities. Are we agreed?”

Jim’s cheek is a mottle of red and white from Winona’s palm, but he nods once all the same. Pike, eventually, acquiesces with an incline of his head. 

“Now, get my son out of my sight.” Winona paces away, pressing a hand to her brow. Her face is pinched, and Pike goes to her side. He speaks too lowly for Jim and Leonard to hear, but Spock isn’t surprised by the intimacy Pike is expressing. 

“Come on,” Leonard grunts at Spock, and then he’s shuffling Jim out of the war room, leaving Spock to trail after them in confusion. He’s shocked that the Jim he’s coming to know would allow someone such a liberty, even if it is his mother. To be struck without retaliation seems so unlike this Jim. 

His confusion must be palpable, because Leonard keeps shooting cautious glances back at him as they walk. His hand is latched around Jim’s bicep, but Jim’s stride is steady as they head towards Jim’s rooms. He stops, though, and Leonard and Spock follow suit. 

“Jim?” Leonard questions.

“Take him back to the cell.” Jim’s tone is soft, much like it had been on the day of Spock and Leonard’s arrival. It does not surprise Spock, then, that Leonard doesn’t even question the command. He turns to Spock with a look that practically dares him to make a scene.

Spock briefly considers it, but then he decides against it. He’s been running on adrenaline for the past few days; drugs and stress have kept him from proper sleep, so perhaps being detained in the cell would afford him the chance to actually rest. He merely arches a brow at Leonard in response, half-turning to face towards the other hallway. 

“Don’t keep me waiting,” Jim warns Leonard just as softly, then disappears the rest of the way down the hall and around a corner. 

Spock doesn’t see Jim again until Leonard leads him to the shuttlebay. Jim stands at the _Nautilus’_ ramp, wearing what most of his base seems to wear; the classic black pants fit him well, as does the deep blue of his vested tunic. Spock appreciates how the outfit accentuates Jim’s bared arms, but not the sight of the scars he can see sporadically bisecting Jim’s muscles. He’s almost grateful when Jim pulls on an old leather explorer’s jacket; he’s able to keep his hands unclenched at his sides as he and Leonard reach the _Nautilus_. 

Pike gives Leonard a nod, glancing at Spock briefly before heading into the ship where Spock can hear him speaking to Winona. They discuss the time from jump to warp, and then how long it will take to arrive at Jim’s coordinates. The distance is great enough that their shuttle will be able to reach maximum warp before having to decelerate. 

Spock wonders at the five of them being together for so long in such a small ship, but none of the others seem concerned. At least they seem to no longer have the tension from the meeting. That’s good; it’ll be less explosive should something go wrong before arrival. 

“There you are,” Jim said as he turns to Leonard, shaking out the sides of his jacket to let it settle properly on his shoulders. “I thought you might have gotten lost. Did you forget what time it was? Or did you linger?”

Leonard returns Jim’s sly gaze with a dry one of his own. “I didn’t touch him, Jim.”

Spock settles his stance, folding his hands behind his back. A wise decision since Jim’s next move is to reel Leonard in by the front of his shirt to kiss him. He doesn’t know what point Jim wishes to prove now, but it does stir Spock’s anger, so maybe that’s all there is. Even moreso when Jim’s eyes meet Spock’s. 

“Do you like the view?” Jim wonders, nuzzling into Leonard and licking his lips.

“No,” Spock replies flatly, honestly. “But I must keep the promise I made you, and killing you both now would not do that.”

“Thanks, I think,” Leonard says with a snort, eyeing Jim as he drapes himself around Leonard’s shoulder. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Jim responds. He lifts his hand to stroke his thumb along Leonard’s jaw, watching Spock the whole time. Leonard makes a disgusted noise and worms his way out from Jim’s side. 

“Take your foreplay somewhere else,” he mutters, walking up the ramp into the shuttle. 

“Bones, you’re in with me,” Jim says after him and smirks a little when he notices the muscle that has ticked from Spock clenching his teeth. “Jealousy is a good color on you, Vulcan.”

“Red will be a better color when it’s your blood,” Spock retorts and, for some reason, it makes Jim laugh and push into his space. 

“If we’re going to be nasty about it,” Jim whispers, head tilting so his words trip along Spock’s jaw line. “Then I’d say I won already. I tasted your blood all day yesterday, you know. Licked my lips and thought of you.”

“Caged again, like an animal,” Spock reminds him, body tense with Jim’s proximity. “Because of you.”

“Yes,” Jim says, eyes dark and lidded. His tone is low, pleased. “Held because I said so, caged because I wanted it. You go where I say, come when I say. And you will, won’t you, Spock? Always come when I call.”

Spock arches a brow, unable to deny the truth, but Jim’s words don’t require an answer.

“Perhaps if you were to actually call, your theory would pan out in your favor. Must I remind you that you did not? You kept me, they all kept me, in the dark for sixty percent of a decade. Had I known you were are on the other end of Leonard’s offer, I am...uncertain if I would have joined him.” 

Jim brings his hands up and slides them against Spock’s neck, then around to press into the still-normal cut of his hair. His thumbs settle behind Spock’s ears, pressing against his skull. Spock tenses further to stem the tingle of awareness. His ears have always been sensitive, an erogenous zone for most Vulcans. Jim knows this well.

“You wouldn’t have resisted coming to see me,” Jim said. “That rage would’ve carried you here faster than my mother’s shuttle.” 

“You wanted me here,” Spock points out, stating the fact with as little emotion as Vulcans manage. “Why would you not wish it sooner?”

A shadow chases itself across Jim’s expression, and he slides his hands back to cup Spock’s jaw before withdrawing them completely. “Because I wasn’t ready for you yet,” he replies, and Spock knows that Jim is confessing something with these words, but he doesn’t have enough information to understand.

Spock longs to reach out, to run their fingers together, to speak softly, surely, with this man, with Jim, but he’s unsteady in their new...relationship, unsure yet what liberties Jim will allow. “And you are now?”

“I don’t know,” Jim says, and it’s hollow and honest. “But I want to be.”

“Jim!” Pike calls from further inside the shuttle. “We’ve got an ion storm rolling in. Sulu’s picking up the take-off.”

Jim turns and heads up the ramp into the shuttle, leaving Spock standing at the base, reeling from the impact of Jim’s words. His impassive expression flickers briefly before he exhales and follows Jim into the main cabin.

~~

Spock is restless. It’s not a feeling he experiences often, and he usually calms himself by sparring, but he’s encased in a small space with barely enough room for the five of them to have privacy. So he sits in the cockpit, watching nothing but the blackness of space as he tries not to think about Leonard bunking down with Jim. 

Thankfully, they’re all retired for the time being. It doesn’t surprise Spock; he wouldn’t expect Winona or Pike to be interested in making conversation considering Spock would find himself hard-pressed not to hurt Winona. He’s beginning to think he’s going to have to let her live to rebuild his relationship with Jim. The thought curdles in his gut, but he puts his head back and closes his eyes. He’s done worse things for Jim. 

This moment feels surreal; the steady thrum of the shuttle around him is a quiet companion to Spock’s solitude. The gaping maw of loneliness opens wide to swallow him whole, but there’s a tether just beyond his reach. It’s a lifeline he knows he hasn’t seen in years, never expected to see again, but it doesn’t matter. He will need to seek his father’s counsel, but he’s sure that as long as the Erufassen connects Jim and Leonard, it’s a tether he’ll never be able to grasp. 

He imagines remaining this way for the years until Jim’s natural death, imagines it like quicksand slowly pulling him further away until Jim is gone and the sands of time pour into his mouth, his nose, covering his eyes. He wonders if it will be worth it in the end, or if he should help Jim with his revenge and then simply walk away. 

There’s a sudden negative space behind the cockpit, a wall of nothing that would send shivers across Spock’s skin if he wasn’t already becoming used to it. He opens his eyes to the black of space again, his gaze heavy-lidded with pensive adagio and his heart beating a bereft lover’s pace. 

There would be no ‘simply’ about it. Whatever may come in the aftermath of their reunion, their parting will always be destined to be unbridled. He should record this entire encounter, keep it exact and honest, infallible. He should use it to remind himself in the future what it was like to be swept away again, to lose autonomy to the force of Jim’s very existence. He will wonder one day where he went wrong, and this would remind him how the winds of change had tested the stability of Spock’s control, and he’d fallen to them like any other dying leaves in the gales.

Even for himself, Spock’s prose is becoming burdensome. He should retreat now before it’s too late and find a darkened, empty space in which to meditate and reconnect with himself. He’s been under sustained assault since leaving Earth with Leonard; he requires a break and feels he’s earned it.

“Should you not be resting?” He asks instead, very aware that he will blow away in this gust of wind with his eyes open. The **quiet** moves closer, and Jim braces an arm on the lower ceiling of the cockpit, his other hand rests on the back of the pilot’s seat. Spock can feel the warmth of Jim’s fingers close to his neck. 

“Bones doesn’t sleep well on shuttles,” Jim answers, tone low as it has been since Spock has reunited with him. In the hush of the late hour, though, it’s intimate. “If he kicked me one more time, I was going to break his leg.”

“An unwise decision considering where we are headed and what we intend to do,” Spock replies, hands settling on his thighs, fingers lax. He must relearn how to remain calm in Jim’s presence, cannot continue to lose control so quickly when Jim has no true influence over him. It’s nigh impossible to keep a stable barrier between them, though, especially when Jim casually draws two of his fingers up the line of Spock’s neck. There come the chills Spock had avoided earlier. 

“That’s why I made the mature decision to take a walk through the shuttle instead. Imagine my delight in finding someone else to spend my time with.” 

“Surely you would do better with Pike,” Spock hesitates, lip curling, “or your mother; discussing stratagems seems to make you a lively bunch.”

“You really need to let that vendetta go,” Jim says on a sigh. “It’ll never end the way you want it to.”

“Because you will stop me,” Spock states flatly. 

“I won’t have to.” Jim says it with such assurance that Spock knows he’s thinking of how easily Spock conforms to his will. Spock doesn’t further the conversation. Silence reigns for a minute, maybe more, and Jim’s hand is still on Spock’s neck. Spock makes the mistake of leaning into the touch. He can sense Jim look down at him, feels Jim squeeze his neck, and he _knows_ bone-deep what Jim will do next.

Spock moves his hands just as Jim slides around to straddle his lap. He’s a solid weight on Spock’s thighs, a heat so familiar that Spock can almost tell himself that they’ve been doing this for years. He meets Jim’s gaze, and they watch each other, still in silence. Spock resettles his hands on Jim’s hips, thumbs finding purchase in the groove where his thighs begin. 

Jim’s eyes lift and he brings his hand up to touch the straight line of Spock’s bangs. “When I saw you in the hallway, I could hardly believe it was you,” Jim says quietly, and Spock’s expression remains passive, politely schooled. “I thought Bones had fucked up and brought me some pretender, some fake Vulcan that cried Spock to infiltrate my base.”

“You have a high opinion of yourself,” is Spock’s dry response. It causes Jim’s mouth to tick upward towards his scars. 

“Someone has to or I wouldn’t be in control of my crew. Do you think I command them with my stunning good looks?”

“You are disparaging the scarring,” Spock says, brow arching. “Do you not feel it becomes you?” Truth be told, Spock hates looking at it almost as much as he hates the rigid style of his hair, feels strangled by the conventions of his species. He assumes the scarring comes from Jim’s death, the mending of his body coming hard-fought. 

“It is exactly what becomes me,” Jim murmurs. “ _Kalo’smi loka-ksaya-krt pravrddho_.”

Spock had not forgotten that Jim is exceptionally brilliant, “ _The Bhagavad Gita_ ,” he says, and it’s a little breathy, because Jim’s intelligence has always been entrancing, arousing.

Jim’s gaze darkens as Spock watches, and his hand slips from Spock’s hair to the back of the chair. He leans in, ducks down as he draws Spock’s chin up with his other hand. “I am become death.”

The words herald themselves across Spock’s mouth, and he parts his lips to inhale them, too eager to take what Jim offers from the tip of his tongue. 

“You are my warrior, and I implore you to do your duty,” Jim continues, and the kiss is so close that it thrums through Spock’s veins, spikes his heart rate until he’s sure Jim can feel it pounding away against his knee. Jim shifts, rolling his hips down and keeping them pressed together. 

Spock has watched many humans, including Jim, lick their lips, but never has he felt the urge to do so himself. He does now, anticipation and teasing in the pass of his tongue over his bottom lip. It brushes against Jim’s lip, a hint and no more, due solely to proximity. Out of the corner of his eye, Spock sees Jim’s pulse jump in the hollow of his throat. 

“You are no god, Jim,” Spock intoned, actively attempting to hide his reaction.

“I am _your_ God,” Jim countered, taking Spock’s mouth then with a deep and claiming sweep of his tongue. Spock lets him, gives in to the demand of Jim’s kiss, and invites him further, fingers curling, digging into Jim’s hips. The void tastes like static on Spock’s tongue, dark and cloying. In what feels like another lifetime, Spock would have known everything in Jim’s heart through the breath they shared. Now, he doesn’t even have the luxury of the usual light inference he would get from simple skin-to-skin contact. 

Jim bites at Spock’s lip, drags it with him as he leans back then lets go with a smirk as he rocks down against Spock’s stirring cock. He taps a staccato against the back of the chair before using both hands to draw the tunic over his head. Spock doesn't give him the satisfaction of drinking in the sight of his bared chest. Instead, he runs the tips of his fingers along the outline of Jim's cock through his pants, firm enough to feel, but too light for much friction.

“I think I'm going to let you fuck me,” Jim announces, heading tipping slightly back as he shifts against Spock’s hand. It sends arousal, spiking hot, through Spock’s system, though he immediately suspects an ulterior motive. It has always been clear to Spock that Jim views sex as a weapon, having experienced brutality and punishment via sexual transgressions. 

“I shall note the momentous occasion.” Spock grips Jim through his pants, the heel of his hand pressing in hard and dragging along the shaft. Jim’s arm tenses beside Spock’s head and Spock lets his eyes partially close, peering at Jim through his thick lashes. “Dear Diary, James allowed himself to be sodomized by my person this stardate. I am unable to adequately state the emotional reaction I am experiencing. I require meditation.” 

It is enough to get Jim laughing, an obnoxious but warm sound that seeks to burrow into Spock’s side and beat his heart faster. His hand slides down Jim’s thigh as Jim comes up on his knees, digging a hand into his pocket to pull out a thin disk. Its center appears hollow, belying the thin film that holds sealed lubricant.

“You know, I’m almost convinced that’s exactly what you recorded after our first time together,” JIm teases, flipping the disk between his fingers until Spock gives in and glances at it. 

“I assure you that it was not,” he comments, then: “That is not enough to properly prepare you for my size, and well you know it.”

“Oh, I do,” Jim fairly purrs, dropping the disk into Spock’s palm and pressing it there with the tip of his finger. “But I’m sure you remember how good the burn of it can be.”

Spock is pointedly careful to not touch Jim’s fingers as he takes the disk, an endeavor that will most likely prove fruitless in the end, but one he attempts anyway. Jim is right, of course; Spock does remember the burn of it and how quickly it had consumed him when Jim had only pressed in that much deeper, that much harder, leaving Spock gasping and dazed and utterly ruined for anyone else. 

No, Spock decides to himself. He won’t give that to Jim, not right now, not like this. He resettles himself in the chair, forcing Jim to follow suit to stay comfortable. He’s grinning now, thinking he’ll have his way, and Spock allows it. 

“Remove your pants, Jim,” Spock says, relaxing back against the chair. When Jim pushes to his feet, bracketing Spock’s body as he stands on the chair, Spock settles his chin on his hand, the disk between his middle and pointer fingers, as he watches. His free hand runs up the outside of Jim’s leg from knee to thigh, squeezing the muscle as Jim undoes the clasps and starts pushing the material down. 

Jim’s cock makes an eager appearance, almost fully hard and already damp at the tip. It flushes red under Spock’s quiet scrutiny and Jim reaches down to stroke himself, grunting a bit at the touch. Spock gives Jim approval through a short hum and assists him by pulling the material down until Jim is kicking his slacks back behind him off the chair. 

“Would you like a taste?” Jim asks, using the pad of his thumb to spread the first drops of his precum along the head of his cock. It shines briefly under the swell of the flared tip, and lust flutters in Spock’s stomach, pitches into the base of his own cock and floods his mouth with the desire to say yes. 

“No, you may continue,” Spock answers, smooth and unaffected. He places the disk in his lap and watches Jim for a few moments, smoothing his palm down Jim’s calf to lightly grip his ankle. He wants to squeeze until he feels the fine bones grind together, but he knows now that that’s what Jim is after. Jim wants the pain, likely for more than that it arouses him, but probably because he wants to fuck with Spock and Leonard, using each against the other. And so, Spock just keeps his touch light, ignoring the **quiet** that seeps through the contact. 

Jim strokes himself slowly, taking his time in drawing his pleasure out for Spock to view. His chin dips down, mouth set in a smirk that pulls at his scars. Spock’s pinky shifts as he meets Jim’s gaze, settling just below his mouth. Jim focuses on it. 

“You’ve had plenty of these, I bet,” he husks lowly. “These private little shows where you sit there and let your lover prove how badly they want you. I heard you’re quite popular among Vulcans and humans alike. Did they all excite you?”

Spock doesn’t answer. 

“No, I bet they didn’t. Not really, because they couldn’t give you what you really needed, could they? Did you watch them and think of me?” Jim asked, scraping his nails along his shaft until he digs one into the tip of his cock. His hips jerk and stutter, and he groans thickly. “Did you touch them, let them touch you, and imagine it was me?”

The simple response to all of Jim’s questions is ‘yes’. Though, he’d come close to a willful forgetfulness with Nyota. His brow furrows before he guides Jim’s hand away from himself with the back of his own. He does not want Jim to cause himself pain, doesn’t want Leonard involved in this anymore than he already is. He disguises the intent by taking hold of Jim’s waist and encouraging him to come back down on his knees.

Jim allows it, sinking gracefully back down against Spock’s. He pushes his hands into Spock’s hair and tips their mouths together again. Spock retrieves the disk and snaps it, feeling the lubricant spill down his fingers. “For the rest of your long, long life,” he whispers against Spock’s lips, “you will never think of anyone but me. You’ll never crave anyone but me.”

“I accepted that curse nine years ago,” Spock responds as he presses the first of his slick fingers to Jim’s body. He lets it drift along the muscle, gentle, teasing. “Even your death could not end it.” 

“Do you love me still?” Jim wonders, and there is no cruelty in his tone for how cruel the question is itself. 

Spock answers this easily, honestly. “I do not know you.” And he eases his finger inside of Jim, slips it in with no resistance, and revels in the pleasure that spirals through his hand and up his arm. 

“You do. You just don’t like that you still love what I’ve become,” Jim counters. “It’s a bit of a thrill, isn’t it? Wanting to stick your dick in a monster like me? Do you think it’ll save us, when you do?”

“No. I do not believe anything will save us.” 

Jim stares at Spock for a few beats of Spock’s heart, hips rolling once as Spock’s finger loosens him. “You’re far too honest,” he decides on a breathy hum then kisses Spock again. 

Jim’s heat is a temptation, calling for Spock to plunge the rest of his fingers inside until Jim’s a writhing mess in his lap from pain and pleasure. He briefly considers pushing, pushing, pushing until Jim’s body widens enough to fit the breadth of Spock’s fist. The idea hardens him, dampens the constricting material of his pants. He will not, though. He savors taking his time, working Jim open on each new finger until Jim -the Jim /before/- would have been begging for more. Not this Jim. Only once does Jim demand that Spock cease his teasing. His cock is flushed red and caught up against his belly. It drools precum down his stomach, pooling in his navel like an invitation to Spock’s mouth. 

Spock resists, but only just. Jim’s will is too strong to squirm and beg, but the dark color on his cheeks and the glittering anger in his gaze is enough for Spock to know that he’s pressing his very strained luck with his actions. Not that he’s concerned. He spreads all four of his fingers inside of Jim, lost in the clench of Jim’s muscles, the pull against his hand to take him deeper. He could spend the rest of their journey this way, soaking in the pleasure of having Jim like this, surrounding him, making him feel in some way, even if it isn’t in all the ways he wants. 

He withdraws his fingers, catching the rim of Jim’s hole with the tip of his index. He listens to Jim’s breath stutter then eases his cock inside of him. Jim’s back arches as the ridges under the flared head of Spock’s dick pop past the fluttering ring of muscle, and even without his ability to feel their connection, he _knows_ there is no unaccounted for stretching, no burn or spark of pain. It’s easier to tell when Jim deliberately yanks Spock’s head back against the pilot seat, teeth bared in reluctant pleasure. 

“I am _not_ fragile, Vulcan,” he warns. “If you do not give me what I want, I will take it from you.”

Spock’s mouth ticks up at the corner, and he palms Jim’s ass to stall him long enough for Spock to not lose himself in the overwhelming realization that he is finally, finally a part of Jim in a way he hadn’t been in years. He desperately, abhorrently, wants to give into the emotion and give Jim exactly what he wants. He wants to gather Jim close and bury himself inside of him, burrow down until he can hide in the void of their bond. He wants to break him some more, bruise and bleed him, mark him until Leonard, until others, would rather cut their own hands off before touching Jim again. 

“You will not,” Spock asserts, unable to stop the arousal from coloring his tone. He slides his palms up along Jim’s back, guiding him closer despite Jim’s irritation. He stops when their foreheads meet and he meets that anger straight on, bracing his heels on the floor and flexing his hips slow and steady to tease their bodies with the gentle motion. He feels Jim’s body tighten reflexively as he drags his cock against Jim’s prostate then drags against Jim’s hole as he relaxes his hips again. “You are welcome to try.”

Jim’s breath punches out from behind gritted teeth as Spock hits that spot again, but to Spock’s surprise, he doesn’t attempt to force him faster, harder. He leaves their foreheads together, holding Spock’s gaze, and begins to rock down against each flex of Spock’s hips. It’s maddening, how slow they fuck. The space is confined, their lips brushing with each softly-panted breath. The sounds of their sex is trapped between them, and the **quiet** dissolves into the background as Spock’s whole world, his whole focus narrows down to the pulse of Jim’s heart and the clench of heat around his cock. 

“You still love me,” Jim whispers roughly. Spock’s gaze lifts from Jim’s mouth, and Jim rubs his thumb along Spock’s cheekbone, tracing the muted green flush tinging his skin. A moment later, that thumbnail is digging into the subcutaneous fat between his cheekbone and jaw. “It’s so fucking obvious that it’s pathetic to think you actually believe you’ll walk away from me.”

Spock expects Jim to further goad him into violence, but he keeps their pace the same. He continues to dig his thumb in until Spock feels his skin split under the nail. 

“You can’t walk away from me,” Jim growls thickly, as if it were a demand, an order, but Jim says it, so Spock is simply to accept it. Their polemic nature is to begin and end at Jim’s words.

“Jim-” 

“When this is done and you kill me, you won’t walk away.” Jim drags his thumb against the cut, widens it, and Spock feels the blood bead down his cheek. His cock twitches inside of Jim and the groan is pulled from his throat. “Bonded or not, your place is here.”

Spock can only watch as Jim draws his hand away to eye Spock’s blood sliding down his thumb into the crease of his palm. He wraps that hand around his cock and uses it to stroke himself. 

“Jim,” Spock groans, dropping a hand to curl his arm around Jim’s waist. He lifts Jim only slightly, enough to give him room to thrust up properly. He hears Jim’s breath stutter, feels his body clench, and he does it again, and again. He lowers his head, stares as his blood spreads across Jim’s cock with the blur of his fingers. 

“Come on, Spock,” Jim growls further, the words harsh without enough breath. He’s panting as he brings himself closer and closer to the edge, blood and precum joining sweat to become a sticky mess in their laps. The scent is powerful, intoxicating. Spock’s thoughts are blown apart.

He feels flush all over, overheated and overwhelmed. He thinks, again, that somehow Jim does still have sway over him beyond the emotional, because he knows that Jim is right. He will do as Jim says; he will remain here when all tasks are complete. He belongs here; he belongs with Jim. It tries to not make sense, tries to ask how Spock could be tied to a place where Jim no longer exists, but he loses that train of thought in Jim’s hoarse moan. 

“I want to hear you say it,” Jim demands, and he’s flushed just like Spock, lips bitten red and shining from his tongue. “Tell me you love me.”

Bidden to the tip of his tongue so forcefully, Spock nearly bites into the words as his jaw slams shut around the admission. Jim shoves himself down onto Spock sharply, locking his knees to keep himself in place as he leans forward. He sweeps the flat of his tongue along the shallow, bloody cut on Spock’s cheek, drags the tip to Spock’s ear and says, ‘Tell me,’ once more before he bites down on the sensitive point. 

Spock is swallowed up by Jim, losing himself in a starburst of sensation. Along the way, he feels the vibration of his voice and knows he’s given Jim the truth, knows it further when Jim spills his orgasm over his fist. His pleasure is almost quiet, contained, until he presses his filthy fingers to Spock’s mouth and gives a rasping groan when Spock accepts them easily between his lips. 

Jim’s expression is sated and exceptionally smug, as Spock knew it would be. He may have not gotten the pain that he wanted, but Spock’s admission has given him something infinitely more powerful. At the moment, Spock is too loose-limbed to care. 

They waste a few minutes to calming down, and Jim spends the time rocking absently against Spock. It sends shivers along Spock’s nerves from oversensitivity, and he sits pliantly, enjoying the stimulation. Eventually, though, the discomfort of the mess sets in, and he politely shoves at Jim’s leg.

“I wish to clean up,” he states, and he regrets that his tone is soft from sex, but Jim doesn’t call him on it. He simply smooths the hair on the back of Spock’s head before stretching one leg then the other until he stands from Spock’s lap and does a full-body stretch. “Come shower with me while the cockpit is sterilized.”

“I do not believe a second round of the same activity is advisable,” Spock responds with an arched brow. Especially not, considering that Leonard sleeps in the room. 

Jim’s look plainly calls Spock on _that_. “It’s just a sonic. Not much room in those for one person, let alone two attempting to fuck.”

Spock has the sudden desire to see Jim pinned to wet tiles. He imagines Jim’s tanned skin pressed against the white porcelain of his shower on campus, and when he blinks, he’s standing on the other side of Jim’s bedroom door. It’s closed, and Leonard is peacefully sleeping in the bed on the right. Jim has already dropped his clothes on the floor and is fiddling with the sonic on the left side of the room. Spock simply sighs and goes to Jim’s side.

Later, they’re back in the cockpit, albeit in separate seats this time. Jim’s feet are propped on the console as he devours an Orlesian dessert consisting of baked, sugared fruit and whipped cream. 

“No, that’s not it at all,” he’s saying, food pushed to one side of his mouth to speak while he chews. 

“But you killed the remaining crew on Deneva, did you not?” Spock asks, watching Jim eat in morbid fascination. “Is that not where your name derived?”

“It’s not my name,” Jim replies with a shrug, a shadow of memory crossing his features. “It’s Bones’.”

Spock blinks then tilts his head and blinks again, clearly confused. “Leonard is the Devil of Deneva? I do not understand. All rumors point clearly to the leader of the Silence.”

Jim rolls his eyes and sucks a bit of sugar from his thumb. “Of course they would. That’s what we want. The crew coined the term before the massacre. They weren’t… Mm, they weren’t very thrilled with Bones using voodoo on their base. I guess Witch Doctor was too on the nose even for them.”

“You,” Spock realizes aloud.

“Got it in two,” Jim quips. “‘Unnatural.’ ‘Abomination.’ ‘The Devil’s work.’ Blah blah blah. He didn’t care; he’d succeeded. And I didn’t care until I did.”

“Is that why you killed them?” Spock asks. 

“No,” Jim spits. “I killed them because they deserved it. After everyone that died in the red matter explosion, the orphans… They still dared to bring another group. Denobulans. Barely old enough to have had their ceremonies. ‘They don’t require as much sleep’, they said. Like that was some sort of achievement on the children’s parts. ‘They can help us rebuild faster.’ I...snapped.

“The next thing I know, I’m locked in a cell on a ship in the Neutral Zone.” Jim pauses to slurp some of the juices out of the plastic dish. A drop slides down over his chin before he wipes it away with the sleeve of his night shirt; it stains the gray cotton. 

“The official reports state there were no survivors within the charred remains of the atmosphere dome,” Spock says after a moment. He sees the columns of data scrolling past before his mind’s eye, recalling the most important facts that were pulled from the investigation; the second for Deneva following the initial mining explosion. The ‘experts’ had decided it was simply another, overlooked pocket of red matter that had detonated after delay. “The Denobulan children were not in the report.”

Jim picks apart a baked pear without answering, and after a moment, Spock thinks he understands. 

“I see,” he says softly. 

“I used to blame my mother for a long time,” Jim says, seemingly apropos. He continues to focus on the pear, destroying its shape with diligent fingers. “Everything that’s happened to me just felt like a domino effect from all of her shitty choices, you know? Dad dies and she suddenly decides that raising a kid is too hard? I get saddled with an abusive, drunkard uncle. She decides that that wasn’t enough to get her to stay and sends me to stay with Auntie Em on Tarsus-” Here, Spock’s hands curl into his fists, his nails biting sharply into his palms. “-and we both know how that turned out. If it hadn’t been for that, maybe I wouldn’t have antagonized Rehannon so much. Maybe Deneva never would have happened. Maybe we never would have met.”

He shrugs and leaves the story there. Spock is left in silence to calm himself down from the reminders of Jim’s past, of their past. 

“I do not believe that to be possible,” Spock comments, pushing the words through the barricade of his teeth. “Regardless of our current situation, it is a universal constant that you and I are _t’hy’la_. We will always be drawn to each other, no matter where or when first contact occurs.” 

Jim’s entire body language had changed as Spock spoke, reorienting itself to Spock’s direction, proof to the truth of his words. Despite the vicious twist of his scars, Jim’s face is almost serene as he ponders what Spock is saying. It’s easy, if Spock doesn’t look at him, to imagine that they’re not monsters and murderers. They are simply Jim and Spock, and an entire universe lies before them filled with the promise of the unknown. 

“What if all of it had never happened?” Jim asks, leaving the plastic dish in his lap to fold his hands behind his head. “Where do you think we would be now?”

“‘What-if’s are illogical, Jim,” Spock states solemnly. He does not say that he was thinking along the same lines. “You should put them from your mind, because it does neither of us good to dwell on improbable things.”

Jim glances at him, mouth quirked and a look of fond amusement hinted at in the depths of his blue gaze. “Improbable, but not impossible, Mr. Spock?” he teases. 

Spock ferociously shoves down the swell of adoration and inclines his head. “Indeed.”

Jim sighs through his nose, turning his attention back to the space ahead of them, and Spock follows his gaze. 

“He’s been out there this whole time,” Jim says quietly, fiercely. “When I kill him, I wonder if I’ll even feel relief at this point.”

“We will know soon enough,” Spock replies. 

Jim hums and doesn’t respond. A few minutes later, Spock glances at Jim again only to see that he’s fallen asleep, one foot leaning to the side as his body had relaxed. The dish is threatening to fall from his lap, but Spock reaches out to retrieve it, setting it on the console in a less precarious position. He doesn’t attempt to move Jim, knowing that any contact would do little more than just disturb him. He lets Jim sleep and hopes that it will be enough rest to see them to the other side of this mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The Bhagavad Gita_ \- Hindu Scripture
> 
> _Kalo’smi loka-ksaya-krt pravrddho_ \- a line from the scripture, where Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty and, to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and saying the line that has most popularly been translated as: 'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.'


End file.
